Places-&-Travel

As seen in the window of a pub on Union Street.. Couldn’t be truer…

There is a distinct chill to the air. Surely the weakly warm sun is on its last legs - like a new born mother coaxed out of her bed too early, smiling weakly for the photo opportunity, keen to impress yet tired to her bone - and the prospect of yet another harsh winter is enough incentive for me to take advantage of the sunshine and get up and about. ...

I suspect it might be the vestigial memories of night bus journeys from Lagos to Abuja back in the day, but my favourite journeys over the last couple of years have been on trains - spotting a rainbow just outside Edinburgh on the way to a job interview in 2009, returning to the North East of England for a weekend of introspection in 2010 and being surprised by the breath taking beauty of a sun bathed Forth Road Bridge, in November no less! Something about watching the grey granite of built up areas segue into lush greenery, and blue clouds, usually leaves me a little awed. ...

Given the decidedly appalling weather we have had out here, the very first signs of sunshine returning are enough to tempt people out of their various hiding places on to the public spaces again. Walking down my usual route back to work - after a quick lunch hour detour into town - I notice the forecourt at the Square is a lot busier than usual. There are people seated on the wooden benches, others standing in little groups and more , like me, passing through, all united by the desire to soak up the rare sight of the noon day sun. ...

Out here, spring is very much upon us at last. Across the land there is an almost sudden profusion of colour; purples, yellows, blues, reds and whites suddenly dot the landscape where a dull, depressing green was standard fare a scant few weeks ago. Standing in front of the door to my modest lodgings, flowers are all I see when I look up the road. Those who should know say the unseasonably warm weather beguiled the flowers into blooming early. The upside to it all is that my otherwise bland commute is now transformed into a celebration of colour, colour not restricted to flowers but extending to women. The warmth and the sunshine mean that around town the hemlines and necklines are coming together quickly, and a lot more skin is visible. ...

The difference is clear - the first few blasts of slightly warm air as I step out of onto the tarmac are the clearest reminder that I have left my small town’s five degree weather behind for at least a couple of days. It is a year almost to the day since I last passed through London - that blatantly self centred and most cosmopolitan of cities - and as usual I feel ill at ease. Blame my small town mentality - in the little corner of the world where I grew up, every one knew every one else and their grand mother.. and their second cousins twice removed. One was as likely to get whupped by the bloke down the street who felt you were up to no good as you were by your own father.. ...

A wry smile plays on my lips as the ‘Angel of the North’- that behemoth that towers over the North East - comes into view. It is the one landmark that definitively asserts that I am back ‘home’. It is akin to a familiar tree ensconced at the junction of multiple roads whose stump - weather beaten, fire scarred, sometimes hacked for firewood - remains indelible, unmoved, an un-poured libation to the gods to whom we as restless travelers owe our protection. I consider this city a spiritual home of sorts for me - much like Bombay in Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaramis to his character. I came here at a time of great personal turmoil in several areas of my life - and I like to think the two great years I spent here set me on the path to redeeming my life. ...

“If I have to see the insides of yet another heat exchanger, I just might quit”. So said I to Annie - the intern who assists me at MO Corp - mainly in jest, but with more than just a threat of burnout hovering just beneath the surface. It has been thirty-seven straight weeks of working without a break; thirty-seven weeks of mind numbing, brain frying, geek stuff. It hasn’t helped that I have been largely unable to unburden my mind by reading; unable to let myself loose to indulge in the art of imagination as prompted by others more accomplished than myself. ...

To a fabulous week that is….. It is 11.41pm, and I am as clear eyed as I can be. I have just returned from the Muyiwa & Riversongz concert. It was fab, If I say so. Apparently the concert was designed to signal the commissioning of a ‘gospel’ choir in the city. The music was great all round - a throwback to my days back in University as an undergrad. Surprise, surprise, the bloke who leads the choir was also quite an active bloke on that same campus and was involved in plotting planning various musical events campus wide. The added benefits of catching up with blokes number 10 and 11 (the numbers refer to the number of close friends and acquaintances I have been re-united with since I made the move across the Atlantic) was fab and far outweighed any misgivings I might have had about shelling out 10 pounds to attend (and the 10 pounds I paid for a CD/DVD of Muyiwa’s album.) ...

In one of those moments - of serendipity or plain coincidence, I met someone who I know from Nigeria on the streets. I was chatting with two friends of mine on a particularly busy street when someone walked up to me and called my name. He attended the same church with my parents for a bit, before he moved on to a new town - got a job in one of the so-called new generation banks and quit his University Lecturer job. ...