When you’re cooped up at home for several days because of a strike, what better way to occupy yourself than to go digging into your past.
There’s this huge bag at home that’s filled with books and magazines and journals and all sorts of scribblings from the years when I was young and foolish. For over a year I’ve been meaning to sort out the stuff in it but haven’t had the time or the inclination to.
Yesterday I finally opened the bag and in its dusty depths I found a notebook dated July 1997, a decade ago when I was stuck in my Grandma’s house and hating it.
The book served as my diary at the time and there’s all sorts of interesting stuff in it. However what stood out for me and really made me laugh is the Will I wrote one night when I thought I was going to die.
It was about 9pm and I was lying on the couch in my Grandma’s living room. I was always lying on the couch in my Grandma’s living room simply because there wasn’t much else to do around there, ‘there’ being my Grandma’s village in the heart of Ibo land. (We’ll get to my complicated family tree one day)
I didn’t speak the language so I had no friends. I was the snooty older one who lay on the couch all day, reading, while my younger brother and sister made friends with the ‘natives’ and spent their days swimming in streams, climbing trees, cooking bush meat over open fires on the farms and generally being real.
I can’t remember where everyone else was at 9pm that night of Thursday 10th July 1997; it wasn’t that late so they must’ve been around somewhere. I wrote the Will because I was going to the British Council office in Enugu the following day and all my mother’s warnings about the treacherous roads and high incidence of car accidents had made me paranoid. (Present day thought: ten years later the roads are still death traps…)
Anyways here’s an edited version of what I wrote in my diary:
“Called the Port Harcourt branch of the British Council to find out if the ’97 edition of the Writers & Artists Yearbook is in the library. The lady who answered the phone said they only had the ’96 edition. Fat lot of use that is to me; I need info on competition deadlines…..I tried the Enugu office but the phone rang and rang so I’ll go there tomorrow. Mum is reluctant to let me go to Enugu alone; I’m 22 for God’s sake! (more or less) The most that can happen is that I’ll die in an accident and I’m not as afraid of dying as I used to be. But I’d better write out my Will just in case…
MY LAST WILL & TESTAMENT (Haven’t had much experience in this but this will just have to do)
I, (my name; on this blog I’m simply zaza) aged 22 (more or less) and being of sound mind do hereby declare that in the event of my death, my paltry possessions should be disposed of and distributed as stated below: (pause while I think hard about what constitutes my estate)
CLOTHING (aka Very Limited Wardrobe)
1) Since I am the shortest of us three, none of my jeans do I bequeath to my siblings (present day thought: I really liked big words when I was younger)
Instead, my jeans should be shared amongst the children in Grandma’s compound. (Pause while I mentally cross out those who do not deserve my old denims)
2) My shirts I dispose of as follows:
Black & white striped shirt – reverts to its original owner, (my brother.) So also my blue long sleeved shirt and gray short sleeved shirt.
Pink sleeveless top – reverts to original owner, my mother.
My turquoise T-shirt I bequeath to my brother, who’s been hounding me for it.
The rest of my shirts and cream skirt I bequeath to my sister.
My favourite black trousers and green silk shirt should be buried with me, thank you very much.
JEWELLERY: none in existence. I am even currently sans earrings.
SHOES: my black slip-ons and silver mules I bequeath to my mother. Since my beige mules are the only things my sister can squeeze her large feet into, they go to her. My clumpy platforms go to whoever’s keen on retro.
My black loafers, my faithful beloved loafers go the way of the black trousers and silk shirt.
OTHERS AKA MISCELLANEOUS:
My bag goes to my sister, and the contents as follows:
Lipbalm: my sis
Nail polish, various shades: my mother and sister
Superglue – goes to my brother
My ‘Z’ pendant either goes to ‘Zulu or to my brother, in case he falls in love with a girl whose name starts with ‘Z’. This is at my mum’s discretion.
Perfume – my mum
Letters, address books and other papers as directed under DOCUMENTS
Green wide-toothed comb, perfect for those knots and tangles – my mum and sister
Tube of Bonjela – to be disposed of at my mum’s discretion
Tweezers – my mum
2 tablets of Valium – my mum
1 lozenge – Aunty Ada (who told me the other day when I visited her that she has a cold coming on)
My mix tape – between my sis & brother, whoever likes Seal, Anita Baker and Mariah Carey the most.
1 diskette containing coursework from my 6 week computer class – goes to whoever wants it
Video club card – my brother & sister (valid until Nov ’97)
*I interrupt this Will to announce that the power just came back on and now I’m listening to jazz on Minaj Radio. The presenter should please shut up and let me listen to the music.*
DOCUMENTS
Comprising address books, journals, notes and letters, including F’s steamy love letters: I’m torn between having them all burnt and having them published as a book. I bequeath them all to my mum. Mum I swear my letters to F were decent, nothing as graphic as his.
The beneficiaries of this Will are mainly members of my immediate family because I have nothing to give my friends, except:
To A and N: copies of the photos we took together in ’94.
To T: the portrait of you that I commissioned as your 21st birthday present, even though you’re now 22. (more or less)
This I declare to be my last Will and Testament, written Thursday 10th July, at about 9pm,
Signed by: Me. Witnessed by: Me. ”
Present day thought: I’ve always wanted to be a writer and even ten years ago I was willing to make the ‘dangerous journey’, risking life and short limbs on treacherous roads to get to a copy of the Writers & Artists Yearbook…
Finding this old diary really made my day and you could say finding it made the strike worthwhile for me in a very personal way.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
So What Do We Have in Common with South Africa?
Industrial actions, for one.
Apparently South African workers have been striking for three weeks to demand higher pay.
Hopefully ours won’t last that long as dialogue is ongoing between the Federal Government and the Unions. I’m hopeful of a positive outcome; a strike becomes very uncomfortable if it lasts longer than 3 days, particularly if electricity and water gets shut off…and there was talk of that happening.
I don’t have a lot of info on the South African strike; apparently it has affected schools, hospitals and transportation, with negotiations between the SA Government and the Congress of South African Trade Unions currently deadlocked. (For more info, check out the Reuters and BBC sites.)
It’s just past 11 pm now. A few hours ago a tired looking Baba Gana Kingibe, Secretary to the FG, emerged after a six hour stakeholder meeting held to resolve the issues surrounding the strike. No agreements yet so they went on break and will meet again at midnight.
Apparently South African workers have been striking for three weeks to demand higher pay.
Hopefully ours won’t last that long as dialogue is ongoing between the Federal Government and the Unions. I’m hopeful of a positive outcome; a strike becomes very uncomfortable if it lasts longer than 3 days, particularly if electricity and water gets shut off…and there was talk of that happening.
I don’t have a lot of info on the South African strike; apparently it has affected schools, hospitals and transportation, with negotiations between the SA Government and the Congress of South African Trade Unions currently deadlocked. (For more info, check out the Reuters and BBC sites.)
It’s just past 11 pm now. A few hours ago a tired looking Baba Gana Kingibe, Secretary to the FG, emerged after a six hour stakeholder meeting held to resolve the issues surrounding the strike. No agreements yet so they went on break and will meet again at midnight.
Barney Goes to the Farm (And So Does Obasanjo)
Day 2 (Strike 1)
The strike is still on. The roads are deserted, most people are home and the Government and Trade Unions are meeting today.
PHCN has been quite kind these past couple of days; we’ve had power most of the time. When the power does goes off the whole place goes deathly quiet, which is normal. What’s strange is how long the quiet lasts. I’ve noticed that the neighbours aren’t in any hurry to put their gens on - with the fuel situation its best to conserve diesel, eh?
It's now I realize that there’s a lot of background noise we take for granted - the hum of the fridge, the maiguard’s radio blaring by the gate, your neighbour’s kids watching the same episode of Barney - at full volume - for the 1,000th time…speaking of which, the other day I bought some new Barney DVDs for the kids in my mum’s daycare. “Thank God” said Georgina when I showed her the new collection. She’s the lady who looks after the children and she’s understandably sick and tired of the “Barney Goes to the Farm” episode that’s been in the player since February. She even knows all the songs & most of the dialogue…
Civil Rights activist Femi Falana was on TV earlier today, talking about the fact that VAT was increased without the National Assembly’s involvement, and about the 14 day ultimatum the Unions gave the Government before the strike commenced. And in the other corner we have the Government saying (repeatedly) that the Unions have a political agenda.
There’s a lot of back & forth and I’m starting to feel cooped up at home, waiting around to hear the latest on the strike - is it still on, has it been called off, will it still be on tomorrow…its like being in a bad relationship and not being sure whether you’re still together!
Heard something funny on TV this morning during all the coverage on the situation: the presenter said that Obasanjo caused problems for Yar'Adua and then retired to his farm, instead of allowing Yar'Adua to cause his own palaver. It’s interesting to note that we believe our leaders are there to cause problems. But it does make sense to ensure that any trouble you cause is solely your own.
The strike is still on. The roads are deserted, most people are home and the Government and Trade Unions are meeting today.
PHCN has been quite kind these past couple of days; we’ve had power most of the time. When the power does goes off the whole place goes deathly quiet, which is normal. What’s strange is how long the quiet lasts. I’ve noticed that the neighbours aren’t in any hurry to put their gens on - with the fuel situation its best to conserve diesel, eh?
It's now I realize that there’s a lot of background noise we take for granted - the hum of the fridge, the maiguard’s radio blaring by the gate, your neighbour’s kids watching the same episode of Barney - at full volume - for the 1,000th time…speaking of which, the other day I bought some new Barney DVDs for the kids in my mum’s daycare. “Thank God” said Georgina when I showed her the new collection. She’s the lady who looks after the children and she’s understandably sick and tired of the “Barney Goes to the Farm” episode that’s been in the player since February. She even knows all the songs & most of the dialogue…
Civil Rights activist Femi Falana was on TV earlier today, talking about the fact that VAT was increased without the National Assembly’s involvement, and about the 14 day ultimatum the Unions gave the Government before the strike commenced. And in the other corner we have the Government saying (repeatedly) that the Unions have a political agenda.
There’s a lot of back & forth and I’m starting to feel cooped up at home, waiting around to hear the latest on the strike - is it still on, has it been called off, will it still be on tomorrow…its like being in a bad relationship and not being sure whether you’re still together!
Heard something funny on TV this morning during all the coverage on the situation: the presenter said that Obasanjo caused problems for Yar'Adua and then retired to his farm, instead of allowing Yar'Adua to cause his own palaver. It’s interesting to note that we believe our leaders are there to cause problems. But it does make sense to ensure that any trouble you cause is solely your own.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Empress Decrees: Benjamin Can Stay
On TV they showed clips of how deserted the roads are because of the strike.
It wasn’t that much different this past week, during the petrol scarcity. A couple of days ago when I gave someone a ride home from work, we were amazed that the journey home which normally takes at least 2 hours lasted only 35 minutes. We talked about what Lagos was like in the ‘good old days’: no traffic, getting around was no issue etc. I was talkin’ way back in the 80’s but it turned out not everyone in the car was on the same page.
I said “Wouldn’t it be great if everyone who’s lived here for less than 15 years would move out so we could have the roads free again?” I got no response to this from my colleague and noticed Benjamin squirming a bit. He probably thinks I have the power to make that happen!
So I asked my colleague in the back seat how long she’d lived in Lagos, turns out she’s only been here about 4 years. Hmm, no wonder she didn’t think much of my idea.
“Benjamin, how long have you been here?” He said twelve years, so in my little role play as Empress of Lagos I altered the law to read ‘anyone who’s been here less than 12 years…’ so that Benjamin can stay because I need him to get to work. He looked pleased that I allowed him to stay in Lagos.
Lagos in the 80’s was paradise compared to now. I wrote an article in Island News a couple of years ago about what Falomo Bridge was like back then; you could zip across in a matter of minutes, visit a friend, zip back home, remember you forgot something at your friend’s place and even consider going back to get it. Now it’s a long slow crawl spent maneuvering around beggars and hawkers.
But it’s not all pleasant memories - the part I hated was the descent from the bridge to the roundabout, where if your windows weren’t up you risked getting blinded by a bunch of plantains. There used to be some women and their kids stationed at the roundabout, armed with huge loaves of bread and massive plantains, waiting for motorists to slow down so they could fling their wares in through the open windows. The thinking probably was that whoever got their plantains in first, clinched the sale.
It really didn’t matter whether or not the people in the car wanted to buy anything.
They would run alongside the car yelling Bread! Plantain! Bread! I guess to help you identify the objects they were stuffing in through your window. But they only did it for a couple of minutes, and only at the roundabout. They’re nothing like the new breed of hawkers who are prepared to dog you down the length of Kingsway Road.
It wasn’t that much different this past week, during the petrol scarcity. A couple of days ago when I gave someone a ride home from work, we were amazed that the journey home which normally takes at least 2 hours lasted only 35 minutes. We talked about what Lagos was like in the ‘good old days’: no traffic, getting around was no issue etc. I was talkin’ way back in the 80’s but it turned out not everyone in the car was on the same page.
I said “Wouldn’t it be great if everyone who’s lived here for less than 15 years would move out so we could have the roads free again?” I got no response to this from my colleague and noticed Benjamin squirming a bit. He probably thinks I have the power to make that happen!
So I asked my colleague in the back seat how long she’d lived in Lagos, turns out she’s only been here about 4 years. Hmm, no wonder she didn’t think much of my idea.
“Benjamin, how long have you been here?” He said twelve years, so in my little role play as Empress of Lagos I altered the law to read ‘anyone who’s been here less than 12 years…’ so that Benjamin can stay because I need him to get to work. He looked pleased that I allowed him to stay in Lagos.
Lagos in the 80’s was paradise compared to now. I wrote an article in Island News a couple of years ago about what Falomo Bridge was like back then; you could zip across in a matter of minutes, visit a friend, zip back home, remember you forgot something at your friend’s place and even consider going back to get it. Now it’s a long slow crawl spent maneuvering around beggars and hawkers.
But it’s not all pleasant memories - the part I hated was the descent from the bridge to the roundabout, where if your windows weren’t up you risked getting blinded by a bunch of plantains. There used to be some women and their kids stationed at the roundabout, armed with huge loaves of bread and massive plantains, waiting for motorists to slow down so they could fling their wares in through the open windows. The thinking probably was that whoever got their plantains in first, clinched the sale.
It really didn’t matter whether or not the people in the car wanted to buy anything.
They would run alongside the car yelling Bread! Plantain! Bread! I guess to help you identify the objects they were stuffing in through your window. But they only did it for a couple of minutes, and only at the roundabout. They’re nothing like the new breed of hawkers who are prepared to dog you down the length of Kingsway Road.
Day 1 (Strike 1)
It’s just past 10 am on the first day of the strike. The NLC strike, that is. The petrol workers’ strike has been called off, remember? (Try to keep up, guys)
I got calls from a couple of colleagues earlier this morning asking if I was at work? “No.” If I’m going to go to work? “No.”
Turns out that some people who were attempting to go to the Island today got turned back, probably by representatives of the Labour Congress. They had to go back home and here we all sit, watching the news to keep up.
The President of the Trade Union Congress was on Sunrise Daily this morning, to explain the Union’s position.
It’s a great show on Channels TV for getting topical issues clarified and I’m glad I watched it because after what the TUC Prez explained, I now understand that the Labour Congress isn’t being pedantic: yesterday the FG reduced the pump price from the N75/litre the Obasanjo administration announced before leaving, to N70/litre. However the Congress insisted on full reversion to the previous price of N65 and went on with the strike because of that.
While it may appear that the strike is on over N5/litre, the guy explained that the manner in which VAT and petrol prices were raised is also being protested. It is statutory for a stakeholder’s meeting to be held before such price increases are made and he alleged that no such meeting held. Stakeholders include the various Unions: NLC, TUC, PENGASSAN etc
I agree wholeheartedly that if this is allowed to slide by, precedence would’ve been set and we will wake up one day to the announcement that petrol is N150/litre, too bad if we don’t like it.
The question came up: “why didn’t the Unions react earlier?” afterall it was the previous administration that implemented these price increases. From what the TUC guy said, they chose to be silent to allow for a peaceful handover process.
Perhaps it’s a good thing they were quiet about it…who knows, perhaps if there were strikes and all sorts of crises at the point of Obasanjo’s departure he might have declared a state of emergency and presented that as a reason to prolong his stay in the leadership?
Now, being a crusty old cynic, I don’t know how much of what I heard this morning is really the true picture of things. As the saying goes, there is no one truth, only different versions of it and so far I’ve only heard the Union’s side.
I got calls from a couple of colleagues earlier this morning asking if I was at work? “No.” If I’m going to go to work? “No.”
Turns out that some people who were attempting to go to the Island today got turned back, probably by representatives of the Labour Congress. They had to go back home and here we all sit, watching the news to keep up.
The President of the Trade Union Congress was on Sunrise Daily this morning, to explain the Union’s position.
It’s a great show on Channels TV for getting topical issues clarified and I’m glad I watched it because after what the TUC Prez explained, I now understand that the Labour Congress isn’t being pedantic: yesterday the FG reduced the pump price from the N75/litre the Obasanjo administration announced before leaving, to N70/litre. However the Congress insisted on full reversion to the previous price of N65 and went on with the strike because of that.
While it may appear that the strike is on over N5/litre, the guy explained that the manner in which VAT and petrol prices were raised is also being protested. It is statutory for a stakeholder’s meeting to be held before such price increases are made and he alleged that no such meeting held. Stakeholders include the various Unions: NLC, TUC, PENGASSAN etc
I agree wholeheartedly that if this is allowed to slide by, precedence would’ve been set and we will wake up one day to the announcement that petrol is N150/litre, too bad if we don’t like it.
The question came up: “why didn’t the Unions react earlier?” afterall it was the previous administration that implemented these price increases. From what the TUC guy said, they chose to be silent to allow for a peaceful handover process.
Perhaps it’s a good thing they were quiet about it…who knows, perhaps if there were strikes and all sorts of crises at the point of Obasanjo’s departure he might have declared a state of emergency and presented that as a reason to prolong his stay in the leadership?
Now, being a crusty old cynic, I don’t know how much of what I heard this morning is really the true picture of things. As the saying goes, there is no one truth, only different versions of it and so far I’ve only heard the Union’s side.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
3rd Mainland in 8
It took us 8 minutes to cross 3rd Mainland Bridge this morning.
It usually takes an hour.
I guess everyone else was queuing at a petrol station or was at home conserving what little they had, so there was just a handful of cars on the bridge at the time Benjamin and I zipped across on our last few drops of precious petrol.
At the traffic lights I saw a newspaper headline: “Federal Government reduces fuel price, reduces VAT”
Sh*t that meant the strike wouldn’t start tomorrow as planned. So much for my wish for a couple of days off work and escape from the manic Lagos traffic. I called a friend and told her the news.
“Sh*t” she said. (We think alike, that’s why we’re friends.)
The guys in my team were subdued when I got in. “Hi guys looks like there won’t be a strike!” I greeted. They grunted and barely looked up. I guess they were looking forward to a strike-induced holiday as well.
E refused to order chicken wings today because he’s waiting for the price to come down. He even harassed the chick who works at the joint across the street when she delivered someone else’s order, telling her “go back and tell your Manager that the Government has brought VAT back to 5% so chicken wings can’t remain at N630”
Everyone geared up to report to work tomorrow (Wednesday.) We weren’t looking forward to it because we were sure that by Thursday the traffic would be back - *groan* - since the petrol workers had called off their strike. (Note to confused readers: 2 strikes were in the pipeline: one called by the Labour Congress and the other by the petrol workers.)
I was worried about not having any petrol; all I’d have left after we got home would be about a teaspoon if any. Got home in a record 30 minutes or so, resigned to paying three times more for 'black market' from the guys who line up jerry cans of the stuff along the road.
I was really concerned about paying so much and ending up with petrol that had been mixed with kerosene or something but Benjamin claims he has a foolproof method of testing before buying. Something about a skin test. (Hey, as long as it’s not my skin being tested.)
He’s worked as a mechanic so I tend to go with what he says unless it sounds really silly. You could say I got two for the price of one - a driver and mechanic of some sort.
Showed me the certificate he got when he graduated from the mechanic workshop he trained at. According to the certificate, he is (and I quote) “a trained engineer” and “his absence from the workshop has left a vacuum no man can fill”. Whoever filled in the details of Benjamin’s certificate obviously lifted that line from somewhere, and I believe the ‘somewhere’ is an obituary.
On the way home we found some ‘black market’ to buy but it turned out I had left my wallet at home so the plan was for Benjamin to buy about 15 litres tomorrow.
Then on the 9 o’clock news it was announced that the Labour Congress decided the strike would go on. On, off, on off...the strike business is just like the power supply.
Apparently, the Government reverted to the old VAT of 5% in response to all the pressure but only went as far as reducing the pump price to N70/litre instead of the previous price of N65/litre.
The strike is going to cause even more hardship for the millions of people who live on daily earnings so on that note I really cannot support a strike that lasts longer than a couple of days.
However, truth is the selfish insensitive side of me cannot help but be pleased to have a day or two away from a crazy commute, demanding deadlines and overpriced chicken wings.
It usually takes an hour.
I guess everyone else was queuing at a petrol station or was at home conserving what little they had, so there was just a handful of cars on the bridge at the time Benjamin and I zipped across on our last few drops of precious petrol.
At the traffic lights I saw a newspaper headline: “Federal Government reduces fuel price, reduces VAT”
Sh*t that meant the strike wouldn’t start tomorrow as planned. So much for my wish for a couple of days off work and escape from the manic Lagos traffic. I called a friend and told her the news.
“Sh*t” she said. (We think alike, that’s why we’re friends.)
The guys in my team were subdued when I got in. “Hi guys looks like there won’t be a strike!” I greeted. They grunted and barely looked up. I guess they were looking forward to a strike-induced holiday as well.
E refused to order chicken wings today because he’s waiting for the price to come down. He even harassed the chick who works at the joint across the street when she delivered someone else’s order, telling her “go back and tell your Manager that the Government has brought VAT back to 5% so chicken wings can’t remain at N630”
Everyone geared up to report to work tomorrow (Wednesday.) We weren’t looking forward to it because we were sure that by Thursday the traffic would be back - *groan* - since the petrol workers had called off their strike. (Note to confused readers: 2 strikes were in the pipeline: one called by the Labour Congress and the other by the petrol workers.)
I was worried about not having any petrol; all I’d have left after we got home would be about a teaspoon if any. Got home in a record 30 minutes or so, resigned to paying three times more for 'black market' from the guys who line up jerry cans of the stuff along the road.
I was really concerned about paying so much and ending up with petrol that had been mixed with kerosene or something but Benjamin claims he has a foolproof method of testing before buying. Something about a skin test. (Hey, as long as it’s not my skin being tested.)
He’s worked as a mechanic so I tend to go with what he says unless it sounds really silly. You could say I got two for the price of one - a driver and mechanic of some sort.
Showed me the certificate he got when he graduated from the mechanic workshop he trained at. According to the certificate, he is (and I quote) “a trained engineer” and “his absence from the workshop has left a vacuum no man can fill”. Whoever filled in the details of Benjamin’s certificate obviously lifted that line from somewhere, and I believe the ‘somewhere’ is an obituary.
On the way home we found some ‘black market’ to buy but it turned out I had left my wallet at home so the plan was for Benjamin to buy about 15 litres tomorrow.
Then on the 9 o’clock news it was announced that the Labour Congress decided the strike would go on. On, off, on off...the strike business is just like the power supply.
Apparently, the Government reverted to the old VAT of 5% in response to all the pressure but only went as far as reducing the pump price to N70/litre instead of the previous price of N65/litre.
The strike is going to cause even more hardship for the millions of people who live on daily earnings so on that note I really cannot support a strike that lasts longer than a couple of days.
However, truth is the selfish insensitive side of me cannot help but be pleased to have a day or two away from a crazy commute, demanding deadlines and overpriced chicken wings.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Petrol & Gold Plated Chicken Wings
On strikes
Since last week there’s been talk that there will be a strike this week; something to do with protesting the 100% increase in VAT that was implemented without warning, and the sale of refineries, and the hike in petrol prices and who knows what else is being protested.
My friends at work welcome the thought of a few days off work that’s not taken out of our annual leave (ha ha.) A strike would also mean escape from the punishing traffic. So you could say the strikers have our full support, whoever they are.
I didn’t have a clear picture of what was going on because keeping up with current affairs in this country could be a full time job. I’d have to resign from my current job and stay glued to the TV and papers so I could draw up an accurate schedule of who’s striking where/when/why; who’s disgruntled or being ‘marginalized’ etc etc. All that and my job?? No way. I’ve dumbed down. No more Miss Intelligent-Conversation-About-The-State-of-The-Nation. Its far too tiring. Plus there’s too much going on here. As Mike Chinoi used to say on CNN: “there’s a Chinese curse…(I hope I’m getting my facts right here)…may you live in interesting times”. These are interesting times…just in an alarmingly negative way.
Like I said, last week I didn’t have a clue what the issues were - I was too busy trying to meet my various deadlines - all I knew was that the chicken wings & pepper sauce my team orders nearly every day from the joint across the street went up from N500 to N630! Overnight. There was commotion. Everyone made a lot of noise and demanded to know why. Y said he didn’t even think they were *real* chicken wings; they’re so tiny that they look more like pigeon wings. I couldn’t debate that with him because I have no idea what fried pigeon wings & pepper sauce looks like, and Y probably has more experience with that sort of thing.
“ N630 for chicken wings?? Are they gold plated?” I needed to know, so I asked the lady at the other end when I called to place our order but she didn’t get it. She actually said no, they weren’t gold plated.
I’m always the one calling to place the orders so they know my name at the joint across the street. I do the calling because I’m in possession of the only copy of the menu & pricelist in the office, which I keep locked up in my drawer because you really cant trust anyone these days. People always ask “Where’s the menu?” Give it to them, they run off with it, (never to be seen again) and what’s a girl to do without her daily dose of chicken wings??
Its not like we can no longer afford the wings, it just didn’t seem like we were getting any value from the deal at the new price. “It’s because of VAT” the lady said.
I’m ashamed to say that that’s how I found out there was an increase in VAT, even though my mum had mentioned it at home a couple of times… I’M STRESSED! I CANT RETAIN ALL THIS INFORMATION!
Then on Saturday morning when Benjamin came to work he said he saw long queues at the petrol station, so I asked him to go and join the closest one and fill up the tank. He came back 3 hours later and said that he didn't buy any petrol because just as he got to the front of the line “those people come close de station”.
“What people?” I asked.
“The people wey dey strike because dey wan sell de refinery.” (You see how many issues I have to keep up with? You see?)
That’s when I found out that there are two groups planning strikes this week. The first is the Labour Congress, over the increase in VAT and the prices of petroleum products. The second group is…er…the group that “close de station”.
Since last week there’s been talk that there will be a strike this week; something to do with protesting the 100% increase in VAT that was implemented without warning, and the sale of refineries, and the hike in petrol prices and who knows what else is being protested.
My friends at work welcome the thought of a few days off work that’s not taken out of our annual leave (ha ha.) A strike would also mean escape from the punishing traffic. So you could say the strikers have our full support, whoever they are.
I didn’t have a clear picture of what was going on because keeping up with current affairs in this country could be a full time job. I’d have to resign from my current job and stay glued to the TV and papers so I could draw up an accurate schedule of who’s striking where/when/why; who’s disgruntled or being ‘marginalized’ etc etc. All that and my job?? No way. I’ve dumbed down. No more Miss Intelligent-Conversation-About-The-State-of-The-Nation. Its far too tiring. Plus there’s too much going on here. As Mike Chinoi used to say on CNN: “there’s a Chinese curse…(I hope I’m getting my facts right here)…may you live in interesting times”. These are interesting times…just in an alarmingly negative way.
Like I said, last week I didn’t have a clue what the issues were - I was too busy trying to meet my various deadlines - all I knew was that the chicken wings & pepper sauce my team orders nearly every day from the joint across the street went up from N500 to N630! Overnight. There was commotion. Everyone made a lot of noise and demanded to know why. Y said he didn’t even think they were *real* chicken wings; they’re so tiny that they look more like pigeon wings. I couldn’t debate that with him because I have no idea what fried pigeon wings & pepper sauce looks like, and Y probably has more experience with that sort of thing.
“ N630 for chicken wings?? Are they gold plated?” I needed to know, so I asked the lady at the other end when I called to place our order but she didn’t get it. She actually said no, they weren’t gold plated.
I’m always the one calling to place the orders so they know my name at the joint across the street. I do the calling because I’m in possession of the only copy of the menu & pricelist in the office, which I keep locked up in my drawer because you really cant trust anyone these days. People always ask “Where’s the menu?” Give it to them, they run off with it, (never to be seen again) and what’s a girl to do without her daily dose of chicken wings??
Its not like we can no longer afford the wings, it just didn’t seem like we were getting any value from the deal at the new price. “It’s because of VAT” the lady said.
I’m ashamed to say that that’s how I found out there was an increase in VAT, even though my mum had mentioned it at home a couple of times… I’M STRESSED! I CANT RETAIN ALL THIS INFORMATION!
Then on Saturday morning when Benjamin came to work he said he saw long queues at the petrol station, so I asked him to go and join the closest one and fill up the tank. He came back 3 hours later and said that he didn't buy any petrol because just as he got to the front of the line “those people come close de station”.
“What people?” I asked.
“The people wey dey strike because dey wan sell de refinery.” (You see how many issues I have to keep up with? You see?)
That’s when I found out that there are two groups planning strikes this week. The first is the Labour Congress, over the increase in VAT and the prices of petroleum products. The second group is…er…the group that “close de station”.
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