General

And so I survived my first Aberdeen Christmas in a long while. It was with more than a little trepidation that I faced the end of the year; the niggling thought at the back of my mind initiated by the sudden realisation that my policy of disengaging from the myriad friendzoneships I was mired in had left me with no real excuse to make what had become fairly regular trips across the pond. Newcastle and London, as always, were temptingly good options - Newcastle because of the old school mates still down there, and London for the promise of piping hot moi-moi and the chance of a first face to face in near on two years with my super wing-woman K. Given my memories of my one and only Aberdeen Christmas to date - bucket loads of snow, lugging suitcases on to and off trains as I made the move up North, and missing a rendezvous with the only guy I knew in town at the time - I suppose my fears were justified if not entirely expected. ...

It will have been five years this year since I made the decision to up sticks, pack in the life I had lived up till that time and head out in the great unknown that was grad school, and what it would ultimately lead to a hiatus from Nigeria. On paper I had a good life. A job that left me squarely ensconced in the safe, settledness of middle class Nigerian life, the prospect of a final salary pension with the option of cashing out at age 45 if I so wished, and the almost cast iron guarantee of an average 20% pay rise every two years thanks to an aggressive union. ...

There are only so many taxi rides that you can take before you begin to pick up on the subtleties of maintaining inane conversations. And if your default mode of transport is a taxi, you have no choice but to cultivate the art, unless awkward silence is your forte. Here then in no specific order are the non threatening things that keep coming up for me in my journeys in the Aberdeen area. ...

Spent the weekend migrating my emails and documents between computers and stumbled on this email exchange, which I was cc’ed on, from my days on the fringes of the student association during my MSc a few years ago.. Our (Nigerian) verbosity is almost certainly genetic, I think! Enjoy! Dear Comrades, Having perused and assimilated the content of this mail, I awaited intelligent responses from the house on this germaine issue that has precipitated. Fortunately it seems the house finds this subject too mundane, trivial and bereft of credibility, with contents premised on lack of tact and knowledge of due process in electorial affairs. However in the spirit of comradeship,I have taken it upon my humble self to initiate this thread which I hope will serve to enlighten our Exco on how these state affairs are conducted for a laudable house as ours. ...

[Source] I seem to have the knack for choosing the shittiest days to go offshore. Last November I end up stuck for an extra three days, thanks to Ambisagrus going berserk and my helicopter flight getting cancelled. Speaking to the heli-admin late on Monday as I confirm my booking, I have her take a quick look at the weather forecast; she confirms there are no extraordinary weather events forecast for the rest of the week. Satisfied, I confirm my check-in time and head out to pack my bags and plan. ...

The sun is out, belatedly, and in its weakly warm, barely there, almost autumnal pall I feel a small sense of relief that summer has not passed us by in its entirety out here in our little wind swept corner of the world. Not since the back end of May have we had weather remotely resembling summer; and with this tiny sliver of sunshine comes the urge to go out and do something. Thankfully Union Square with all its delights - and sun bathed open spaces - is only a brisk ten minute walk away from work, so I make a few phone calls and get my two friends from across town to agree to a meetup to catchup over lunch. We end up - and there must be no prizes for guessing here - at Nandos and we order our now standard fare, a platter of peri-peri chicken and a variety of sides to share. I go for a mixed leaf salad - between Sister #1 and the Irish drinkard, calorie counting has become my new obsession. My buddies, not shackled by the need to rein in bulging waistlines - both go for other less healthy options; OOO going for two sides of rice and Og going for a large serving of peri-peri salted chips. Between placing my initial order, and getting my loyalty card swiped, it turns out my last but one visit has entitled me to an extra half serving of chicken, which I add to my current order. All told we end up binging on a chicken and a half in the hour we spend there. Fully fed, with sagging guts and brains groaning at the small matter of another four hours of work, we down our coffees and leave to start heading back up to work. Having safely dispatched them to their cars, I settle in on one of the benches in front of the Union Square building to catch another half hour of sunshine before heading back to work. ...

Deserted... The House on the corner of 3rd and 12th. The sun had began to lose some of its unblinking menace by the time my overloaded bus laboured up the final incline and began its descent into Ekpoma. Although we had made steady progress on the Lagos to Benin leg, navigating the maze of the Uselu - Lagos road and finding my way to the Big Joe motor park across town had taken a while and it was well past four pm before I found my not particularly comfortable seat on a bus to Ekpoma. ...

Back, knackered but thankful… To big resets, (almost) clean slates and ninth lives….

The flight into London was uneventful, the only thing breaking my ear-phones-plugged-in-music-playing routine being an exceptionally friendly gentleman and his wife who I had the misfortune of sitting next to, on one of three adjoining seats. After tossing my knapsack into the overhead locker, I motion for them to make some space for me. He smiles, far too easily and obliges me, as I slither into the seat, somehow managing to do it without entangling my ear phone wires on the various odds and ends he has left on the seat. He is dressed simply; a North Face jacket from which a bland, grey shirt peeks through a half done zipper. I can’t help but notice that the woman on the other hand is much better dressed, the highlight being an eye catching, flowery, brown dress that stops well shy of her knees as she sits, and a full mane of blonde hair. I settle in, toss a mirthless, slit lip grin in their direction and proceed to detangle my ear phone wires. ...

On the morning of the day I am due to fly westward, I wake up late - late being a few minutes before 9.00 am - on a day on which I have an 11.35 am flight to catch with neither a packed bag nor sorted transport for comfort. When I finally pull myself out of my bed, I call a cab for 9.30 am, and beginning tossing clothes, books and my laptop into the grab bag I use for these quick across-the-pond jaunts. ...