Family-Matters on A Geek's Life

At the Centre of Things

Fri, 05 Nov 2021 14:06:00 +0000

Every waking minute of the past few weeks it seems has been filled with some nursery rhyme or the other, so much so that deep in my less wakeful moments, I have caught myself humming along to some tune or another. Chief of them has to be the ten in a bed one where a particularly bossy kid shoos off the others who end up in a pile beside the bed nursing various bumps and scrapes. Sometimes it has felt like there are an infinite number of ways this can happen, although the mathematics suggest that there is only one way to do that, if that particular order is maintained. All of this is long way to say that L is very much at the centre of things with sleep, if I can go out for a run in the morning and other such mundane things very much dependent on what state she wakes up in.

World, Meet L

Fri, 25 Jun 2021 17:03:00 +0000

Photo by Marcel Fagin on Unsplash

As I write this I am looking out of my window onto the lush greenery of the park across the road in the tiny corner of South Yorkshire in which I am currently ensconced, as different from the edge of the world in which I have spent the last eleven months as it could be. For 45 degree Celsius and 90% plus humidity, I give you a bone-chilling 14 degrees Celsius with more than the odd spattering of rain; a mild Yorkshire summer by all accounts I am told.

The Diary: The Paphos Files

Tue, 14 Nov 2017 11:02:08 +0000

The first bits of Cyprus we glimpsed as our flight began the descent towards Paphos were wind turbines slowly turning in what must have been a slight evening breeze, and houses which from the height looked like small, matchboxes pressed into the sides of the hilly terrain below us. Although it was only 5.20pm local time, it was quickly growing dark, which at first seemed odd until I realised just how much closer to the equator we were here than in England from where we were arriving. This trip to Cyprus was at the instance of S, ten days in Paphos being her idea of a honeymoon. The hope was to get the chance to catch our breaths after what had been a whirlwind three weeks in which we had managed to get hitched without losing our minds; the pressure of a large Nigerian wedding notwithstanding.

Wordpress Photo Challenge: Peek

Fri, 03 Nov 2017 12:48:39 +0000

The view that meets my eye on day 1 of 10 in Paphos, Cyprus. Truly looking forward to chilling and bonding with S, and catching my breath after what has been two weeks lived on the very edge of sanity (A Nigerian Wedding will do that to you).

--- For the Wordpress photo challenge, Peek.

Honour Thy Father

Tue, 17 Oct 2017 04:19:19 +0000

Image Source: (c)Nathan Anderson

–

It is to a stroke of fortune that I owe listening to the final episode of Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast three times over the last week. The first of the series of events which led to that was upgrading to iOs11 which messed up my podcasts, led me to seeking out Overcast as a replacement, and then having to decide on which ones to subscribe to or which to bin. That episode, Basement Tapes, explores a son’s reaction to finding out he has played a part in debunking to some of extent what has been the essence of his father’s work. The son, Robert Frantz is contacted out of the blue by a researcher, Chris Ramsden (Scientific American describes as the Indiana Jones of science), who is looking to acquire raw data from an experiment conducted by Robert’s father, Ivan, in Minnesota between 1968 and 1973. What results from Chris’s analysis of the data is a fundamental questioning of the conclusions of that study and the diet-heart hypothesis which claimed a linkage between a low saturated fat diet and the low blood cholesterol levels it produces and a reduction of the associated death rate (or adverse outcomes, as the study euphemistically puts it).

The S Files: Coming Up For Air

Tue, 26 Sep 2017 17:49:25 +0000

The morphing of what began as an interesting way to spend my summer Fridays last year into full scale wedding planning has left me feeling ragged and in need of a time out; the colours, people and costs involved being mind boggling for a bloke who has built the last few years of his life around his me time. Far from feeling like chickening out, I’m more grateful than miffed, seeing as becoming a husband and a father are key components of my life plan.

The Burden of Grief

Fri, 11 Nov 2016 22:42:56 +0000

One of the lingering effects of H’s passing is that four times a year, I go through a phase where I especially struggle for words to share with my father. Although triggered by four specific days – her birthday (the 8th of July), their wedding anniversary (the 11th of November), the day she passed (the 19th of July) and the day she was buried (the 8th of August) – these tend to be long drawn out affairs affecting the days leading up to and the days after these days. The struggle takes various forms primarily centred on whether to call my father or not, and on the days when I manage to call him, what to talk about - to keep things as normal as possible or broach the difficult subject of H. He and I have never been the best of conversationalists - we’re much too similar for that – but these days make that tenuous relationship an even more difficult one, so much so that on most of these days, I have opted for not calling him in the end.

The Way The World Ends: On Loss, and Lostness

Wed, 13 Aug 2014 19:09:23 +0000

It is sometime after 5pm – between chomping down on a very meaty beef burger and swigging from a can of apple juice - that the call comes in. Up until then, I have been having the exact weekend I had in mind when I dragged myself away from work to catch the 727 to Aberdeen Dyce airport a few days earlier: go-karting and then a BBQ, with the prospect of Lakeside shopping with B. to come. The scene is one of self-indulgent relaxation; two grills fully stocked with burgers, chicken drumsticks and barbecue meat on the go, little children running about, wives and girlfriends munching on burgers and sharing intimate gossip moments, and men standing around the grill sipping from cans and surveying the scene - wife, 2.5 kids, picket fence and a few hundred quid to burn on a splurge in tow. It takes a while – probably the better part of ten minutes - before the gravity of the news begins to sink in. When I return to the three-way conversation I was having before the call, B senses there is something wrong. In response to her quizzical look, I motion for her to break out of the conversation and explain what has happened. All told, twenty minutes after hearing the news – give or take – my mood has morphed from indulged, self-congratulation to inner turmoil as I attempt to digest the news in the relative quiet of B’s.

For H: What I wanted to say...

Wed, 06 Aug 2014 23:31:58 +0000

I spoke on behalf of the family at H’s funeral. The plan was to go over the points raised here in sequence, mid way through it, I broke down and cried uncontrollably. Here is the original text, for the record…

My earliest, lucid memories of growing up are inextricably linked to green bowls of soup and stew, and Sunday afternoon cooking marathons. Back in those days, in the early eighties, extenuating circumstances required that the family lived in two homes in two different cities. One of the enduring images from that time is the meticulous attention to detail and the foresight to plan long term with which both homes were run with incredible efficiency.

Bait and Switch...

Tue, 15 Apr 2014 21:18:34 +0000

My father, very much like me, is not a great talker- the sum of our conversation over the course of the year is little more than fifteen minutes. In the main these - 3 minutes here, 2 there, and 5 there have mainly come about as intermissions, snuck in between typically lengthy conversations with my mother - if her constant probing and interrogating can count as conversations. When I wake up to find a couple of missed calls from him on my phone , a whatsapp message from my kid sister, and a BBM message from my brother - all relating to the fact that my father has been trying to get hold of me- it sets the alarm bells in my head off. After arriving from my weekend trip to the middle of nowhere (link) I ordered the largest, most decadent pizza I could from PapaJohns - with a barbecue chicken side- devoured it and promptly fell into my bed for sleep, which was how I ended up oblivious to the clamour for my attention.

Facebook Fail

Mon, 13 May 2013 22:12:26 +0000

I woke up to five missed calls on my phone. I had felt, rather than heard its insistent buzz deep within lalaland but sheer tiredness had kept me from waking up. Instead, the phone’s chirpy ringtone somehow ended up blending itself in with the background to some weird dream I promptly forgot on waking.

Of the five missed calls, three were from my mother, one from my father’s phone and one from a private number. This has more or less become her standard M.O. - when she feels I am intentionally refusing to answer her phone calls that is. That she’d called five times suggested it was important, so I groaned inwardly, punched in the numbers for my calling card and made the phone call to Nigeria.

Pimping Mrs P

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 14:00:30 +0000

The woman clutched my arm. The first wave of feeling that hit me - when my mind frozen for an instant by the brazen grab - was fear, and then confusion, as she peered intently into my face with not even the faintest hint of recollection bouncing about in my head. She wasn’t wearing the flowing robes of an aladura prophetess, thus ruling out a smash-and-grab prophesy as the reason for her intrusion. Something about the deeply lined face, the light grey hair peeking out from underneath her tight head wrap and her uber thick lenses left me positively unsettled.

Baby Birthdays, failed détente and motherly ultimatums

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 21:59:43 +0000

In what must be a first for me, I get invited to a birthday party over WhatsApp. Truth be told, there were mitigating circumstances. Although the parent in question and I have some tenuous familial connection - my grand father and her grand mother somehow managed to get entangled in the far distant haze that is a few generations ago - she and I haven’t stayed much in touch, in spite of us living the the small matter of the length of Union Street apart. I suppose the invitation was one last hopeful punt in my direction. If it was, it worked, the twin attractions of something to do on a Saturday afternoon and proper Nigerian food proving too strong for even I the quintessential recluse. Izzy, the kid in question had just turned One, and her parents keen to celebrate the milestone were putting together a small get together for the guys; for that I was very much a willing eater.

False dawns, god daughter shenanigans and an unexpected meetup

Wed, 04 Apr 2012 18:18:53 +0000

The mini heat wave that was, threatened to leave nerves frayed and tempers flared all week in Room 3.26 before - like a duplicitous conman - it vanished as abruptly as it had arrived. It just so happened that the air conditioning - perhaps suddenly burdened by the heat load and the multiplied tinkering of the occupants of the various offices in our section - huffed and puffed to an untimely death; leaving us in varying degrees of grumpiness. I had taken half the Friday off, looking to spend the afternoon strolling leisurely up and down Union Street, binging on the copious amounts of skin that had suddenly appeared, coaxed out by the warmth from beneath the bland greys and austere blacks that had been the standard fare for the last few months. The flirty weather had other plans though, and Friday morning arrived with a chill in its wake putting the dampers on any thoughts of prancing about town. I promptly cancelled my holiday, resigning myself to a full day of number crunching and copious amounts of milky, weak tea. So much for an early return to warm, sunny days!

Awkward conversations, proxy wars and the end of an era

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 23:10:05 +0000

In that productivity black hole that is the half hour before lunch - where the energy and the gusto from an early start have been steadily eroded by the mundanity of work and the insistent prattle of phone calls, emails and the odd buzz-word infested meeting - I stroll for the umpteenth time into the restroom, almost colliding with a man who is fiddling with the zipper on his fly. I least expect to find someone just inside the door, even though this time of the day is one where the restroom shuffle, coffee room trips and huddles of two and three in the hallway are time honoured strategies for the keen time waster.

How He Met My Mother

Fri, 11 Nov 2011 11:11:17 +0000

One Sunday in December of ‘76 as the dry, dusty harmattan winds dumped a fine layer of dust on a sleepy village, two best friends who had not seen each other for the better part of three years were meeting up under the shade of a kola nut tree, squarely placed in the centre of the court yard of the unpainted cement building that housed one of the ruling families in a little village nestled underneath the overhanging rocks of the Somorika mountains.

Coming clean...

Tue, 26 Apr 2011 16:17:34 +0000

On the surface, I live a life that most people would envy - 5 years working for a Fortune 500 company in Nigeria, followed by a well recognized MSc and then a job working for one of the industry leaders in my sector of the Oil industry. On the family side, it would appear that I have it all sorted - the quintessential good son, with proud, loving and doting parents. The true picture couldn’t be further from the truth.

Biting the bullet...

Tue, 19 Apr 2011 20:28:15 +0000

Against everything my head tells me, I pick up the phone and call my elder sister. Growing up, she and I at best had a tenuous relationship, at the worst of times we barely spoke to each other for long stretches. She always had this way of taking bluntness to illogical extremes in my opinion. Lately, Mother has put her on the job of hassling me.

When my call connects, she is in the middle of mixing up some cereal for her youngest child. She puts my call on speaker phone mode as she juggles her child, the phone call and the bowls she is using.

For Gracie...

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 11:11:52 +0000

For Gracie, who the genes took…

You never saw the thirteenth summer through- before the genes claimed you.

You always were - the sallow one, knuckle- kneed, paper thin, but - the lights in your jaundiced eyes shone: through pain and fear, and hope and tears.

The strength in your voice never dimmed, never waned, until the genes - like a belligerent marabout’s curse - turned you, to a mound of red- dead earth

Free Food's great...

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 06:27:14 +0000

Free food is great, especially when you are a confirmed bachelor with an aversion for cooking. I’m sure if my pots and pans have a choice they would vote to have me back in their next ’lives’. Such is the ease of their lives! Providence must have decided to be kind to me though, as a few hours after complaining of feeling listless I got a phone call from my work buddy O to head off to the beach. He and I have an inside joke where I hail him as my mentor and he says I’m much too old to be mentored by him, and considering the boring lives we lead, hanging out is always a plus. Fast forward a few hours and we head off to the beach where we go to this Chinese buffet thingy at Jimmy Chung. Two huge cokes, lamb ribs, some curried rice and soup later, we could belch with satisfaction at a great days work - all for nine pounds. I should definitely do this again!

10 years on..

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 22:42:10 +0000

My Uncle Fred was the nearly black sheep of Mother’s side of the family. Bloke had all the women purring over him and he lived for the attention. As recently as the year 2000, he still left his plates on the table after eating and Mother would use him as an example of how not to behave.

It was to my utmost surprise therefore, that in the midst of a phone call with me, Uncle Fred excused himself to go stir some soup he was making! Uncle Fred and cooking are about as diametrically opposed as they come..

Friends.....

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 21:26:00 +0000

Caught up with Olu again - he and I sat down in the car, engines revving pouring our hearts out on the various issues in our lives. After being so similar for such a long time, our lives cannot be more divergent going forward. He is heading back to Nigeria semi-permanently, I am looking forward to yet another winter here.

Life is good though, and the time spent chatting up has thrown up a few new directions. That is what friends are for I suspect.

A spot of bother..

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 18:37:00 +0000

Mum is running scared. A lot more scared than even I am.. And she doesn’t know the full scale of the issue. All I have told her is that I may not be returning to my old job in Nigeria. The truth is that I have quit already. As is typical with her she is bothered; wondering if I have enough funds to survive the job search, if I am seeking temporary work whilst all my documentation pulls through, the whole lanyards.

Of Exes and Mother's Angst

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 19:39:35 +0000

Dear Lawwd! Matters came to a head today over SpiriChic. Thing is Mother and I have spent the past few months locked in a mental war – losing it is inconceivable for me, because it would constitue such a loss of face that I couldn’t possibly put my foot down on any thing with her in future.

SpiriChic, one of two young ladies I ever seriously dated, is a certain un-official ex from a few years ago now, whose existence was leaked by a parroting sibling in a moment of crass indiscretion. Said ex and Mother got to meet and hit if off instantly, which should have raised red flags in my mind at the time. My assumption has always been though, that as long as I hadn’t told the parents anything, whatever mother assumes is just that, an assumption.

Family Matters

Wed, 20 May 2009 13:13:00 +0000

I am currently embroiled in a little family spat - with Mum, Dad and ’the Uncle’ being the principal players here. Mum is one of them prim and proper women – married in her mid twenties, had her children fairly early and then gave her career a good shot. In between multiple children and numerous extended family members, she managed to get herself three degrees in total! She also gave the blokes at work a good run for their money – and came close to landing the top job several times except for the political posturings of a few well connected individuals. She and I have this love-hate relationship though. She’s never accepted that I am grown and can handle myself. She’s always tried to help out or plain take charge of me, which I have resisted with every fibre.These days, she and I have a mutual respect. We both know where the limits are – that is the recipe for survival I suspect.

Telephone conversation.....And the Case of the (over) roasted chicken parts...

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 17:52:00 +0000

Update: I’ve renamed my blog “Just Thinking” to reflect the more thoughtful mode I seem to be slipping into day by day…

Me Ma and I have a cordial relationship; not the lovey dovey, mushy eyed, i-miss-you-always kind, but more like a pragmatic, mutually respecting, i-have-your-back-so-you-can-call-me-if-you-have-an-ish kind. My bad though, I’d not called her for a week so she was just a weee bit justified in calling me up.

Apparently, she had done quite a bit of running around for my kid sister’s wedding in April and she needed to vent. Only snag though was that I knew that was only the hook, the full gist would encompass many other things….. Plus I was grilling some chicken, and fantasizing about the eating part.

Birthdays, KPIs and Mama's Calls

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 21:34:00 +0000

Phew – I’ve survived another year – Another year of living and working in 9ja with all its attendant issues. I had several close shaves with death in the past 1 year - two car crashes that almost claimed my life (the last one finally totalled my 2001 3.25i BMW and left me with a cut on my head), a massive re-org at work that left 160 people considering what might have been if they’d opted for a different first job instead of tying up with an Oil & Gas major, two flights to and fro Lagos every month inspite of the real issues with the 9ja Aviation industry, several gruelling trips to Benin City from my enclave in the 9ja Delta (a 16hr round trip every 2 months) and most importantly another 1 year of surviving inspite of Mama’s phone calls..

Haunted by a YearBook...

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 19:55:00 +0000

Phew – The “danger” of documentation was brought home to me very forcibly a couple of days ago.. A friend of mine stumbled across an old year book from my campus fellowship (from which I graduated in 2002).

First off the “me” in the picture was several pounds lighter, with bushier hair and the talk – gist of launching my very own ISP wthin 10 years of quititng campus, writing songs and all what not – was a far cry from what I’d actually gone on to do .. Only my name connected the picture of the scrawny 20-something year old guy with the “buff” guy I’d become..