Meet My Busy Mind.: June 2016

Surviving 'cannibalism' in this economy

Monday, June 20, 2016

There is a story in the Holy Bible. Of women eating babies.

2 Kings Chapter 6 has it that the land was besieged. Famine abounded. Hunger was the way of life.

Two 'resourceful' women struck up a covenant; "We eat my baby today, we eat yours tomorrow" they planned.

(They probably reasoned they could birth more babies later. I gather that those days, women were so fertile that they conceived when male folk sneezed)

The story has it that Baby A belonging to Woman A was eaten by both women on the first day. On the second day, Woman B hid her Baby B.

The Contract was breached. Kasala burst.

(Humans reneging on their word. No be today e start. *Sigh*)

The broken contract was tabled before the King.

The King wept...that things had gone this bad. People had become not just cannibals, but heartless cannibals

(Wait...there are 'heartful' cannibals...right? I mean, it must take extra stone in the heart to eat a micro-human)

I had always detested those two women. I could never understand what kind of suffering someone would undergo...to contract to eat a human birthed from their womb.

I could never forgive these women.

That is; until this weekend.

(Dear future husband, calm down. It's not what you think. I won't eat our children)

Let me rephrase: I still don't get eating humans, but I think I am beginning to gain understanding of the type of economic inabundance, which would make your thoughts wander...prance into unprecedented territory. In hopes of survival.

For the first time in my life, as an adult, I genuinely feel: THINGS ARE TOUGH.

This hardship is not of the texture I encountered when I was jobless, houseless, carless; I could blame my status then.

But I thought I had moved up the economic ladder. And generally felt settled.

More recently, that 'settledness' has turned into some uneasiness, status regardless.

(Who status epp?)

It is as though some goblin occupies the same room my bankers keep my salary account. My used-to-be-enough income appears to suddenly shrink into inexplicable oblivion.

It finally made sense to me on Saturday. I clearly understood that the cost of living had actually more than doubled. (Forget deceptive economists telling us inflation had gone up only 15%)

I almost cried leaving the market. My car trunk would ordinarily be full, with the amount of money I went to market with. That day, the foot of the passenger side was barely filled.

Let me not get started on the fuel hike. What would usually take you a whole week and some days with N5,000 is now about N11,000 for a week.

Anyone who does not feel this 'suffering' should be investigated by EFCC. They are part of the people who used our reserves to cook rice and beans, with Sir Dasuki, et al.

(Even your Madam with her private jet is feeling it. Just thank your God she has not sacked you..yet)

So I called the community in my head for a serious meeting, sat 'us' all down, and had a talk with us for these hard times. I set the ground rules for navigating these times:

- If you do not ABSOLUTELY need it, do NOT get it.

- If you must borrow to get it, you do not absolutely need it. Do not get it.

- When you carry your car key, stop. Look into the mirror, ask yourself: “Where are you going???”

If that place will not generate money, will not make you healthier, or contribute to the afterlife you look forward to, SEET DAN!

- If you have not bought your ticket via travel deals from over 6 months ago, you must not travel for any summer. After all...is it not summer all year round in your country??

- All those downloads that swallow your internet, and makes you spend excessively per month, ngwa...pause. If you get bored, go back to your stack of Agatha Christie and James Patterson.

- Improvise! Improvise!! Improvise!!! You have won the 'yoruba woman' of the year award for cooking stew with only fresh tomatoes and ata rodo. Ok...Uncle 'Gote is hoarding all the fresh tomatoes (they said it, not me)... tomato paste will not kill you. Just add your ata rodo, boil it long enough, and remind yourself that you are missus cook. The stew will taste the same.

- Still on food, you can use your efo riro for EVERYTHING. This government cannot harbor a pot of banging efo and a pot of stew in the same house; at the same time.

My beloved efo...in whom I am well pleased

- You are already watching your weight. Your clothes won't tear. Keep rocking them.

- Just keep driving past that suya joint. Your efo is waiting for you at home. Shey you're watching your weight, ehhn??

Our brainstorming session was fruitful, long and short of which is to cut down on unnecessary spending.

In other news, we heard the CBN finally floated the Naira. (Halleluya… ish)

My first instinct was panic: when the Naira ‘unfloated’, the cost of the dollar was so high. What would happen now??

But I've been reading a lot, most of which seem to provide some comfort that things will ease up pretty soon.

I cannot reproduce all of the economic jargon: some things about Foreign Exchange Professional Dealers (a.ka. the Dollar big bois); volatility of the Naira in the first few days, before ascertaining its true value; our economy being pumped with more money...eventually.

It is well.

(You too should read up on all the grammar. Knowledge is power)

What I know is: if we could survive the scary-as-shit regime of that dark-glasses wearing uncle that they said apple killed;

If we could survive "20 miserable pounds for all your millions";

If we could survive 1.5 cups of water to bathe and three spoons of garri to soak as a day's meal in boarding school;

Then...

WE. SHALL. BEAT. THIS.

And we won't eat our children.

Kam dan.

Meg.

6 Comments

Nigeria

Robbing Humans... to pay Religion

Friday, June 17, 2016

Photo Credits: www.inhabitat.com

I found myself conflicted yesterday.

(I promise… I don’t look for the drama. The drama seeks me out)

I was trying out new work-out venues. I visited a particular aerobics studio after work last week, and asked for the changing room.

(I had only visited there on a weekend. This was my first time on a weekday)

I was pointed to a particular door.

I turned the door knob; a lady was sprawled in the middle of the room.

Praying.

I stepped back and asked again for the changing room.

(Perhaps, they … thought I say ‘praying’ room)

I was pointed there; again.

I turned the door knob once more. This person was still totally sprawled in a mantis position.

Praying.

In the CHANGING room.

(Understand the dilemma: it was a pretty small space; I was already 20 minutes late for a 1 hour aerobics class)

Should I wait a little more out of “courtesy” , and risk aerobics class being over by the time she was done communicating with her deity; or, do I rather risk sudden lightning striking me, for daring to strip in the same enclosed space with an unseen spirit(s)?

I remembered the many, many things niceties of life members of the big-sized ministry have to suffer. The many, many sacrifices they have to make…

- Insufficient dresses at the dress store for big sizes;

- Being stuck with ‘boyfriend’s’ shirts rather than exhibit the tubes of glory nature has bestowed on them;

- The coy (but pain-filled) “No thank you”s at parties, rather than giving in to the “Yes! Oh yes!!” their souls longed to express;

Etcetera, etcetera.

I have made some of these sacrifices. I have been the polite ‘No’er.

My sacrifices were not going to be sabotaged this day. The gods would have to deal.

So I braved the potential lightning; I tiptoed around the still fervently praying person, squeezed myself into a corner of the room, began getting out of the work clothes, and into my work-out attire.

(The story is almost over. Patience)

Mid-change, prayers were finished. I was still squeezed into my tiny corner. I smiled, expectant of the brief apology for the inconvenience.

But, I met the most annoyed looking scowl I had seen in a long time from the prayer warrior, who rolled up her praying apparatus without a word, and stormed out of the room.

Or, maybe ‘attempted to storm’ out of the room; considering the door was jammed, and I had to help open the door. (Who says karma is a myth?)

***

I should just stop writing already. You reading this understand this;

(My irritation…my frustration)

Or do you not?

My problem with the practice of religion in this part of the world; the accompanying sense of entitlement and intolerance. That selfish monster its practitioners allow to possess them.

As with other rights, all over the world, it is understood that your right to do a thing stops where my right starts.

For example, your right to singing stops at my right to not be mentally traumatized by horrendous noise; human made or otherwise.

Your right to believing in something should stop at my right to believing in a different thing, or believing in nothing at all.

Not in Nigeria.

You are a witch, an infidel, a demon, if you attempt to stand in the way of another’s ‘worship’. Even if the worship threatens the fabrics of your sanity.

Which is why speakers would blare at the weirdest times of the night, when your sleep motion is set to change gears; the message of which is lost somewhere between the confusing words of the preacher and the subconscious indignation of the intended audience.

I am not going to get started on the recent killings and assault in the name of religion. Enough publicity has been given them by the media. Enough lip-service has equally been given by the people in power.

For all my activism and enlightenment, I feel helpless; that this madness may continue. And there is absolutely nothing I can do.

Yes, I can write and point fingers at the government to take more pro-active steps to ensuring the protection of citizens. But ultimately, it is humans who individually and jointly perpetuate the madness. Government in: Government out.

It is this knowledge that causes me to quicken my steps on certain days of the week; to hold my pashmina a little tighter; to refrain from calling out the thieving fish merchant in the market (who robs me in the guise of selling fish) what he is: Thief.

Common-sense…no, survival instincts kick-in.

You see, it is my hope that my mother (eventually) gets her long-desired omugwo. In split-seconds, I quickly deduce that my words may be twisted to have been against a most revered prophet. My busy mind quickly flitters on my last thoughts being caught between my mother’s unfulfilled wish, and the wasted bowls of okro soup in my freezer.

Before being reduced to charred remains, or Ned Stark.

Like I said, ~~common sense~~ survival instincts kick-in. I bite my tongue, and smile, with a curse under my breath. (Wisdom is choosing one’s battles)

So I might feel helpless against the large-scale sense of entitlement and lack of mutual consideration that the practice of religion in our country has birthed. I might even go against my very nature of unfiltered speech, in order to survive summary death.

But I’ll be darned if I let anyone usurp space meant for dressing/undressing, and turn same into ‘holy’ ground.

Religion has its place and space. Let humans have theirs.

Meg.

Ps: I do not have a problem with Religion. I have a problem with its practice; when expressed inconsiderate of other humans.

6 Comments

Surviving 'cannibalism' in this economy

Robbing Humans... to pay Religion

MEG CHINELO EGBUNONU

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