A Restaurant Review: How you sink your business

Just the little things

There are some very fundamental things anyone who runs a business should be doing to be on the pathway to success. Whilst, I will not necessarily dish out business thots, what you put into a business is almost always a reflection of who you are.

If you run a restaurant business, it goes without saying that impressions matter, service is paramount and the setup is more than a revelation. Up in Edinburgh this afternoon, I had checked on the Trip Advisor website searching out African restaurants. I think 9 came up from all parts of Africa and two were particularly of West African cuisine.

Trust but verify

Now, anytime I visit a new place, I do try to search out a restaurant that serves some Nigerian cuisine and I hope it is good.

On Trip Advisor, there were 16 reviews of the African Flavour Restaurant of which 4 rated it terribly, 9 were excellent and 4 with a very good rating. It does concern me when I look at restaurant reviews and 25% of the respondents had a rotten experience, yet, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt.

On reflection, I was too trusting, the website link for the restaurant from Trip Advisor was defunct but I pushed my luck and called a cab to the place. From the outside, you could see the place was not particularly cared for. On stepping in, two tables were occupied and the other two had not been cleared with leftovers and mess left on the tables.

Invisible for a while

The waiter was attending to two mothers with their kids who had come in to pick up their takeaways, nothing seemed to be done with despatch. I was there for probably 5 minutes before I was noticed and I told the waiter I had come for a meal. There was, however, an instinct to just walk out, but I stayed as he made to clear the tables without any panache and motioned to me to sit down.

Meanwhile, a monotonous cacophony called Nigerian music today was blaring from the television which was linked to YouTube videos. One of the customers who probably was a friend of the waiter was playing jukebox with a mobile phone calling up tracks that suited her listening, though later the volume was turned down. After the mothers had left, it probably would have been better to close the restaurant and having the waiter spend time with the other two customers who seemed to know their way around the place but were no helping hands.

Staff the place properly

I could not say if the man waiting the tables was also doing the cooking, but I suspect that was the case which would mean that adding one more member of staff to the coterie can improve things to ensure the tables are cleared before new customers come in and preferably whilst the customers who had those meals were still at the tables. Separating waiting tables from kitchen duties can make the greatest first impression of a place.

I was hungry and not too keen on going elsewhere, so I hope that the food served would be the redemption of the place. They did not have my choice of peppersoup and the gizzard and plantain combo would have been served without the plantain. Without making too much of a fuss I forgot the entrees and ordered the main course of pounded yam and ogbono soup.

A salvation of sorts

It arrived piping hot as I was informed to wash my hands at the wash basin with wonky taps, I would suspect the soup came out of a microwave oven because it was scalding hot, it could not have been served from a pot on a stove and be that hot.

In any case, I settled into the meal without suffering any life-changing burns and when I finished, I returned to the wash basin to wash my hands only to find the tissue roll dispenser was empty. I returned to my table and wiped my hands with one of the napkins before using sheets of I tissue handkerchiefs I had in my pocket to dry them properly and immediately asked for the bill. I had called my Uber and walked out to it soon after.

Doing the right thing matters

By comparison, the Uber cab was clean, the driver pleasant and the conversation enlightening, but contrast, the restaurant I had just left was dire, lacking in character and ambiance, with a redolent staff incapable of purpose with a slapdash business sense, that restaurant was a business in decline.

A business in decline not by reason of anything but the proprietor of the said business and the person should have no one to blame if that business fails. The Uber driver opined that the neighbourhood was not one of the more salubrious of Edinburgh, however, in my view that is no excuse for bad service of unkempt tables. Nothing stopping the proprietor converting that restaurant into a surprise location like a jewel in the dirt.

Work with what you’ve got

It takes a particular mindset to make the best of what you’ve got and where you are to attract custom. I posted a review on Trip Advisor that rated it average and by terms, it was a generous review. You rarely get a second chance to make a good first impression and in the case of the African Flavour Restaurant, the flavour was not fragrant or tasteless, it was the harbinger of retching nausea if the constitution of the stomach were of lesser resilience.

I endured it, but I would be ashamed and embarrassed to recommend it and if not for my craving and hunger, I should have given that place a miss, the moment I stepped in. It is shame when someone has an opportunity and out of being inconsiderate and incompetent, compounded by rank ineptitude, what could be a showcase restaurant is a rundown dive.

African Flavour Restaurant,
187 Great Junction Street,
Edinburgh
EH6 5LQ
+44 131 554 5537

Open daily from 16:00 to 22:00

Thought Picnic: Knowingly breaking the rules

An Englishman in Scotland

With respect to my new odyssey up in the beautiful climes of Scotland, I must confess, every day has been brilliant, bright and beautiful in Edinburgh, I am beginning to disbelieve my new colleagues who have constantly suggested the weather would change in 15 minutes. Maybe there is a different clock mechanism working in the country of our cousins up north, because going by English time, that 15 minutes of changeable weather has been running for almost 5 days.

Considering what they say about the weather in Manchester, Edinburgh could as well be in summer already, however, I guess by the time I return next week, I might arrive at a rude awakening.

I updated my LinkedIn profile with sketchy details of my new role and soon after congratulations and best wishes came flooding in. Contacts from way back asking after my health and welfare amongst other things. Good thoughts and prayers, news and anecdotes coming in that you can only feel liked and loved.

The workplace relationships we rarely cultivate

We forget we have an amazing community in the workplace, people we interact with, day-in-day-out, we probably spend more productive time with people at the workplace than anywhere else, it makes me wonder why some people end up being nasty to other colleagues. You step away and conclude a dark soul would never be a spring of laughter or humour, they are harbingers of ill will, stress, and discontent, wielding power without either a sense of responsibility or humanity. In the end, they will not be remembered fondly or happily, they are the scions of perdition.

Yet, in the little notes we exchange of reconnection, friendship and reminiscences, you are heartened that your friends are doing well, living well and happily well.

Breaking rules properly

One such remembering a working relationship over 14 years ago commented on some influence I had on him to the effect that I apparently said, “Learn the rules well so you can break them properly.”

Now, I cannot remember saying that, but on reading it bad to myself, they do sound like something I would have said, both seriously and in jest. I would not consider myself a rule breaker per se, I could be quite conformist, yet, in knowing the rules well, you have every opportunity to test its breaking points and dare to experience the daring-do of living free of constraints.

In another way, a lack of understanding of the rules of doing things, of engagement, of conduct and many other things not only symbolises incompetence, that incompetence is compounded by ineptitude presaging absolute chaos and worse.

As I have been reminded, I should keep this in mind. As an Englishman, I was looking forward to the Early May Bank Holiday on the 1^st of May. Alas, it is not that strictly observed where I work in Scotland, so no long weekend for me, I’m back in Edinburgh on Sunday. Finally, I did not know TransPennine Express trains offered wireless connectivity in motion, I noticed someone else connecting and so I got to post this blog.

Edinburgh: Returning after two decades

Of memories, past

As new adventures go, my arrival in Scotland was not necessarily auspicious, but interesting all the same. The last time I was in Edinburgh was 20 years ago when I met up with a Brummie just like myself who lived in Scotland and was literally the antithesis of the company that people who saw us together ever thought I would keep.

He was in full skinhead attire at a time when many antisocial activities attributed to skinheads involved street violence and racial abuse. He was a SHARP skinhead, friendly, lovely and amazingly good company.

We kept in touch for a few years after my visit, at which time, he left Scotland for the West Midlands and with the passage of time, we have both completely lost contact with each other.

A yearning for the new

I stayed at the Ibis Hotel which had only opened a few weeks earlier and going online required a modem connection over a phone line, I was able to cross-charge the rate through my BT phonecard, now a collectible, how times have changed.

I was in Leeds on a Microsoft training course when I received a phone call from an agency about a role in Edinburgh, for some reason, the moment I heard of the role, my heart seemed to be set on the possibility that I would get the job.

It was another 8 days before I heard of their interest in interviewing me, it was to be a telephone interview in the morning, the Thursday before Easter. I attended with my mobile phone hooked up to a headphone because I was not sure taking the interview over a speakerphone would work so well.

Blog - Thought Picnic: My Interview Weaknesses

Whilst I cannot say I was the most articulate in my answers to the many questions posed about my skills and what I would be expected to do, the interview appeared to go well. I had not interviewed for a role for over 3 years, so there was no practice in the kitty to ensure I would exude any confidence that a person of my experience would be expected to have.

Plans, proposals, and prospects

I was not to hear anything until after the Easter holidays when on Wednesday I was contacted that they would want a face-to-face interview in Edinburgh on Friday. In the meanwhile, some terms of the contract changed unfavorably, but I was still willing to put my lot with this prospect.

I considered spending the weekend in Edinburgh but some deeper premonition suggested I go up for the day and return home for the weekend. In the process, that meant I found time to attend my goddaughter’s birthday in Dorset.

At the interview, we started off on a very friendly note, some comment made about my dressing and the reference to my father whose thoughts to me at one time were, ‘Appearances matter always.’ That I have found in some places of work that I have the best dressed is not one of extraneous effort, just that inclination to be well presented.

And so, we agreed

In that sitting, after I was asked if I was up for the challenge and a challenge it would be, I dedicated myself to the cause and I was offered the role without recourse to the agency first. We agreed I would start on Tuesday and Monday was spent sorting out the contractual details and other finery.

Sunday had me out to Dorset and then Monday, a 5:40-hour journey up to Edinburgh where the first 4 nights are being spent at a University of Edinburgh apartment accommodation. I did more on Friday discovering Edinburgh than I have had the time to do since I arrived on Monday. The statue of Sir Walter Scott, 1^st Baronet, author of Ivanhoe and Rob Roy amongst others.

My office faces onto the craggy steep rocks that form the foundations of the Edinburgh Castle, I will probably spend a weekend here soon to explore the city. However, without any doubt, I am enjoying this new adventure north of Hadrian’s Wall. On reflection, I have now worked in the three nations of Great Britain and just one left of the United Kingdom.

I Am Not Your Negro

Finding meaning in the dark

At the Easter weekend, my friend of 33 years visited and for the three nights that he stayed over we had a social event of sorts which included watching films and having dinner.

Of the films that we watched, I was seeing Moonlight for the second time and I Am Not Your Negro for the first time. On Moonlight, which was a coming of age story dealing with drugs, addiction, relationships and sexuality, there was another element of bullying that I thought I should write about, but that piece has not been conceived yet.

When I did first watch Moonlight, I wrote a blog which not so much a review of the film itself but a reflection of how addiction regardless of the substance or activity does have the same destructive effects on all directly and remotely attached to the said addict. The blog is referenced below:

Blog - My own #Moonlight story is not a movie

A fake quote with sentiments

Now, almost four years ago, I wrote another blog that has garnered over 20,000 page views, I was surprised when just a few days ago, there was a sudden surge in readership that added another 2.700 page views to the blog in a week.

Apparently, the subject of the blog is making the rounds again, a case of Internet Apocrypha, a quote contrived by someone and attributed to a historical figure which then cast as genuine.

Blog - Opinion: Lord Macauley did not address the British Parliament in 1835

With this new activity came a new comment, there have been many comments, many objective, some subjective and others just downright nasty.

I bit my tongue

This new comment that came from Fausto who is probably French going from his other comments on other forums failed to address the topic I blogged about. He started by damning with praise by calling me a ‘Smart Man’, before belittling the context of the blog and then suggesting that I should embark on another scholarly activity which I excerpt and quote below. All grammatical errors left in the text.

“I suggest you spend even more time and your wisdom sir to find out what atrocities were caused to the African continent by the British You owe that to your own kind sir. as black man regardless of your motive you cannot be the devil advocate of the devil.” [Link]

Now, I do have stringent commenting rules on my blog, that might be the reason why I rarely receive that many comments on the blog itself, but I do find engagement on Twitter and Facebook though links to my blogs posted therein.

The audacity of a cretin

Much as I can be quite tolerant of people, there are times when odium and the purveyors of it need to be put in their place. For a stranger to come to my blog, my own personal space to dictate what I opine about is disrespectful, abusive and smacks of the audacity of a cretin.

Then to use the phrase, “You owe that to your own kind, sir, as black man.” Should have me spitting tacks before I descend into acrimonious verbiage eviscerating every notion of his being until it shrinks into completely forgettable ignominy, but I was kind.

In context of sorts

To digress, the second film, I Am Not Your Negro was a construct of the unfinished work of James Baldwin who died 30 years ago and it was a documentation of the history of the African-American Civil Rights Movement through the lives and assassinations of three friends,  Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr.

All of them died in their late 30s leaving young families, James Baldwin compared and contrasted the men, talking about his relationship with each of them and articulating the causes of the Negro as African Americans were called in then in his [published writings and debates around Europe.

I left the showing of the film with a sense that James Baldwin had a compelling mastery of words and communication that people wanted to hear what he had to say whilst the FBI sought to denigrate him for his homosexuality.

Why it matters

Yet, I cannot properly review the film here, only suggest that any opportunity to view the film would provide a teachable moment on the civil rights movement.

As we left the cinema, we discussed the issues of identity, of privilege, of demonstrations and causes and how that affects who we are today.

As the thoughts about the film percolated in my mind for days, the comment left by Fausto seemed to crystallise into what I wrote below, to inform my interlocutor that my wiliness to engage does not confer the right to dictate how I should think, what I should write about, where I should express opinions, what my identity is and how I should express my own thoughts.

To encroach is to invade my territory, disrespect my person and arrogate upon himself an entitlement he could never earn which much be contemned completely, and so my response.

I Am Not Your Negro

The purpose of this blog was to debunk false material being circulated as fact which came within my social media space almost 4 years ago.

Now, I have no idea what the purpose of your comment is apart from attempting to serve as a distraction from that primary aim.

If you had bothered to check other details about me, you would realise that I am both an Englishman by birth and a Nigerian by heritage. If anyone had posted an inversion of the truth about slavery into my social media space, I would have performed the same activity of taking the time to address it as I addressed this matter.

Now, if you have an opinion about what I have written, I would expect you to state those views rather than attempt to project some inferiority complex upon my person.

I am aware of the many atrocities of the British in their colonial fiefdoms and I also have to bear the burden of the fact that I cannot divorce myself from the shared identity of being both British and African.

What I would not do is repudiate one for another to satisfy a victim complex, I am a black man of great privilege and I would not deny who I am.

In the spirit of the recent documentary about civil rights in America, may I clearly state to you without equivocation - "I am not your negro."

Thought Picnic: A note of self-encouragement

In a moment of reviewing personal veracity,
When one encounters the doubts of innate capacity,
Within the resources of varied capability,
Always lies amazing ability.

That even in the throes of vulnerability,
Having weathered the onslaught of imbecility,
There is every probability,
Assurance remains of adequate facility,
In that I find agreeability.

When you stand with integrity,
And consider things in tranquillity,
Whatever the fragility,
It cannot temper your agility.

Introspection hones your acuity,
Reveals many a possibility,
Nothing will end in futility,
For we are born for irrepressibility,
In utility is great formidability.

Opinion: Where addiction and tragedy can confuse issues

It is a sad story

I just read an article posted on LinkedIn titled, Opioids, My Mom's Death, and Why People Trust Science Less and the human side of the story is very sad, however, the additional narrative is opinion, conjecture, suspect and unfortunate.

There is a conflation of issues along with unresolved conflicts that need to be separated before this article tagged as an Editor’s Pick, Healthcare and Pharmaceutical are taken in without questioning or review.

Separate the issues

Walking back the issues, there is grief at a mother’s death, addiction to pain-killers that came as a result of prophylaxis for osteoporosis, estrangement, and then the machinations of the pharmaceutical industrial complex, known as Big-Pharma.

There is no doubt that Big-Pharma, Big-Tobacco, Big-Oil, Big-Manufacturing, Big-Agriculture and Big-Anything have a lot to answer for about their products and the effects of the production and use of those products on people, on the environment, and everything that makes for the wellbeing of our common humanity, but that is addressing the symptom.

The fundamentals would always be down to the individual, their personality and their experiences in how persuadable they are and this is not to castigate the strength of character of anyone, but missing that point would allow for drawing the wrong conclusions.

Scientific advancement has done wonders

For instance, it is thanks to the contributions of scientific research and medicine that I am alive today, having at one time been at death’s door with a prognosis of 5 weeks to live if my physiology could not tolerate and respond to the regimen of therapy I was being prescribed.

At the lowest point, I was in such unbearable pain that if not for the need to monitor my vitals, I would have been anaesthetised to manage the stress of it. Before I was admitted to the hospital, I was on Tramadol, then on the day I was admitted, I was given a morphine skin patch that had to be taken off after two days because I could not keep my food down and from then on, I was put on Oxycontin and Paracetamol with Codeine.

Whilst it appeared to manage the pain, when a deep biopsy was done on the fungating tumours under the sole of my left foot, 7 shots of local anaesthetic did very little to deaden to the pain. I simply bit on a think piece of a folded napkin as they prodded the anger in my foot.

Managing pain alone

On leaving the hospital, I was prescribed a list of pain and nausea management drugs that I was concerned about the cumulative soporific effects of the drugs. In addition to the earlier prescribed drugs, I was given a Fentanyl patch and that dosage was doubled when I reported that I was still in very much pain. That was when the equilibrium for my pain management was reached, I was not as pre-occupied with the pain as I took in 7 sessions of chemotherapy and the cancer lesions healed.

Whilst the lesions had gone and all the necrotised skin had been removed to reveal fresh skin, I was still in pain into the 4^th month of my diagnosis, then the pain began to subside. One Sunday, the patch fell off my skin, I did not know until then that a patch retainer film could be worn to keep the patch in place. Until the effects of the new patch kicked in, I was in such pain I began to laugh almost into delirium, but that produced endorphins to ease the pain. My friend thought I was going crazy, but I knew what I was doing.

Coming off pain killers

The pain of cancer is in another realm, it cannot be explained, the therapy for chronic pain has addictive qualities too. When the pain had gone, I could not just take off the patch, I had to wean myself off it, this is where the mind and the will come to play. Addiction has much of its roots in the psyche first than in its palliative effects. The palliative which is in itself a kind of comfort has to be consciously managed.

In my case, it took another 2 months to come completely off the patch and other pain medication. With the patch, I cut it in half and left it on for longer, each patch dosage halved and left on for much longer until my body could do without the drug.

Then, we all have innate tendencies to addiction and some people might be able to avoid addiction. There was another instance where a change in drug regimen meant I could not sleep, the first suggestion was to put me on sleeping medication, however, I thought of working a plan to take my pills at a certain time and avoid completely drug-induced sleep. I could see the dangers of becoming dependent on sleeping pills.

Addiction is first personal

Going back to the purpose of writing this blog, addiction has social, emotional, economic, relationship and physical consequences. In my view, addiction is not just to drugs or the abuse of drugs, alcohol, it could be sex, it could be religion or any other activity. The person and people around that person suffer, and that is very sad.

Regardless of what brought on the addiction, it is always first a personal struggle, what other factors contribute to it does not take away from how the person might have succumbed to addiction. Whether we fail to be better informed of the debilitating side-effects of a drug does not take away from the balance between efficacy and damage.

Apportion rightly

The science would suggest a drug can do something, most drugs have to recoup research and development costs and it unfortunate that some people put the profit motive well and above the welfare of patients and customers – that is commerce, we cannot avoid it.

It is, however, a long stretch to conflate personal tragedy, addiction, the science and the commerce into one clickable title of Opioids, My Mom's Death, and Why People Trust Science Less and draw the conclusions in the piece without properly assuming personal responsibility on the one hand and understanding that every individual has a unique physiology that adapts to medication in different ways which could influence the mind too.

I recall my doctor saying they could treat my condition but it depended on my physiology to tolerate the medical regimen. I lost a friend to a similar condition because his physiology did not have the capacity to tolerate the regimen of chemotherapy.

The responsibility of addiction remains a personal thing, the responsibility for being properly informed lies within the person, their medical support, the pharmaceutical companies and the science that balances efficacy with possible side-effects, with the hope that efficacy outweighs side-effects.

I am sorry, the writer lost his mother to addiction, but if we are to trust science less because of the conflicts of interest between treatment and commerce, we would all die sooner in more misery and pain with respite or comfort. That is why these issues need to be treated completely separately even if they are linked in a personal tragedy.

Thought Picnic: Never let little minds define your big life

We have those ills

We all as primal and uncultured human beings have the capacity for rage and pettiness, but what separates one from another is the ability to appreciate that the fundamentals of good breeding become the world of difference regardless of what status a person attains in this world.

In the scheme of things, there are too many instances where if I were to paraphrase William Shakespeare, the highly fed and lowly taught have risen to manage the highly taught and somewhat lowly fed.

Those with a good sense of self-esteem and self-assurance would always find themselves at the envious end and sadly, the mercy of the unsure and reaching; who by accident of good fortune we must not begrudge, get promoted beyond their capabilities and we are invariably engaged in a proxy class war.

Old-fashioned still matters

I always reference the necessity and importance of old-fashioned values, much of which is disappearing from the workplace, ones of courteous, of respect, of proper address, of refined conversation and of choice of apparel.

We cannot make the choices of co-workers, but we can create the best impressions of who we are by conduct, decorum and comportment, that some of those attributes cannot be ascribed to some is unfortunate, especially if they represent your line management – that is life in the workplace.

Know yourself and live

However, it is important that you understand your own journey and count your own blessings, know your own story and never compromise on your principles. With that in mind, you realise that you might be in a situation which is hardly the top of your past achievements, but the spirit of perspective and contentment has given you a better way of thinking.

It allows you to let go of trying to tackle those who never in their whole lifetime would experience a fraction of your own amazing story of life, livelihood, earnings and blessings.

Do not let those who have the little power they have today become the ones who define your future. They cannot amount to much and your life goes on, as you part ways.

I dream a little dream of me

I have great capacity to dream,
Engage in the power of life-giving hope,
With all that burning desire,
I must curb my enthusiasm.

Where I’ve had no light to my beam,
Giving me every reason to mope,
I find no urge to retire,
It is not a function of my phantasm.

It is all part of the scheme,
The ways we are deeply taught to cope,
That fuels the things to which we aspire,
We are born to bridge the chasm.

That we never run out of steam,
Or rarely in the dark only to grope,
For we live to learn and acquire,
A lasting happiness full of enthusiasm.

Clinical Notes

History in bodily detail

A 4-page printout from my local clinic this morning details a two-year medical history drawing in information from London, Wrexham and Amsterdam about observations, diagnoses, prophylaxes and treatments for a condition that is in its 15^th year.

Reading through, I am somewhat amazed at the ability of the human body to face the onslaught of infirmity and find recovery in help from medication, the state of mind and just sheer good fortune, to which I can only say, I have been blessed.

Under pressure to be at ease

Whilst away on a course yesterday, I received a call from my clinic to visit for a bicep cuff encounter with a sphygmomanometer. Yes, when I was last at the consultant’s just over two weeks ago, my blood pressure readings were a matter of great concern.

We agreed for an appointment for this morning and I walked up to the clinic just a little over 250 metres away. Observing the lady who went in, in front of me, she did not stop at the reception but touched a device where she entered her gender and date of birth to be informed about who she would be seeing and where to wait.

It is all now electronic, so I touched the device, entered my details and when the name of the nurse came up, I cross-referenced with a chart to the left of the device on a noticeboard that told me I should wait on the 1^st floor.

Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing

Just under 10 minutes later, I was called into a waiting room where my blood pressure was taken twice, with the second reading much lower than the first and both readings considered normal. However, I was told if there was any indication of abnormal blood pressure, I could be put on a 24-hour monitor to gauge what my blood pressure is on a typical day.

We discussed my meeting with the consultant two weeks ago, the suggestion of prophylaxis for pneumocystis carinii pneumonia (PCP) which was decided against without a consecutive blood test with similar indicators, I was told I needn’t worry about it. My drug regime might be changed in 6 months because the drug is now out of patent and there are more affordable variations of it, though I am not under any obligation to change them if I don’t want to.

In all, it was pleasant and I was back home within 30 minutes of leaving, looking forward to a more eventful day. Despite the many problems the NHS has, I owe a lot to the NHS for my health and wellbeing; long may that continue.

Thought Picnic: Victuals that feed the few

Inspired by this opinion piece by in Kay Musonda in ModernGhana titled, African Pentecostalism Has Given Birth To A New Breed Of Mentally Lazy Christians Who See God As A Rewarder Of Mediocrity, I contrived this ditty, emphasis on contrived.

Victuals that feed no one.

In the pursuit of the spiritual,
We have lost the individual,
As priests have taken the scriptural,
Made it into a begging ritual,
There is, therefore, no rigour of the intellectual,
For temples now inhabit the spectacle of the visual,
Therein we hone the instinctual,
From what was of the perpetual,
The clergy gains from the conceptual,
The laity left lazily ineffectual.

Thought Picnic: Between flawed diamonds and flawless pebbles

The battle for the perfect

“Leave your mind alone; your intuition knows what it wants to write, so get out of the way.” Ray Bradbury.

Intuition as Google defines it “is the ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning.”

It goes without saying that in the realm of blogging, conscious reasoning is the enemy of the instinct to just write and allow the flow of whatever urge to write there is. There are times when I just begin to type at my keyboard or write in my notepad things that are just there to write.

Before I get enough of that spring of words into unstoppable traction, my mind interjects and interrupts, fearful of what arrangement or words might emanate and stemming the flow by channelling what was in freeform into the processing of thoughts and views, becoming the gamekeeper of expression.

The fearful interloper

Yes, my mind almost always gets in the way and at that time, it is almost impossible to politely ask it to move out of the way and allow free rein to what is innately there to express.

Intuition in writing can be your internal madness, a madness with a veneer of genius or even stupidity, you can never really know. If you can find a place to just scream, it is surprising what release it can be, jettisoning all inhibitions and letting ripping without abandon.

It is not thoughtlessness, per se, practice over time does create an inclination to do things literally subconsciously or even unconsciously. Taking away the impediments of the conscious might well be the panacea to the dreaded plague of Writer’s Block where we burden ourselves beyond our expression with what reception and assessment would be.

When Voltaire in his moral poem La Bégueule (French) wrote,

Dans ses écrits, un sage Italien,
Dit que le mieux est l'ennemi du bien.

(In his writings, a wise Italian
says that the best is the enemy of good.)

I do not believe what he intended was to make do with the imperfect, but that we should allow what naturally comes to be itself without adjustment or embellishment. Sometimes, the inspired or the natural is ruined by intervention.

"Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without." Confucius

Thinking of Feyike - My sister, my daughter

My sister, my daughter

When I bought my apartment in November 2001, my youngest sister was the sole beneficiary, her name appeared on all the forms even though she was never aware of that fact.

She was for me not only my youngest sister but as there was a 17-year gap between us, there are ways in which I considered her my daughter too. Yet, I was like an absent father to a daughter I knew I had but never bonded with.

When she was born, she arrived home on the day I was leaving for school, I did not attend her naming ceremony and for that my father and I got into a physical where he head-butted me out of rage because I did not rise to expected familial responsibilities.

Away and unaware

I had left home at 10 for boarding school and the time I spent at home after that was for holidays apart from the 16^th year when I was a student at the Lagos State Polytechnic before I moved to Yaba College of Technology in late 1982.

In many ways, I was unaware of what was going on at home, siblings fell seriously ill, some were admitted to hospital, another had an operation, I was oblivious of everything and only heard after the event whenever either of my parents deployed an accusatory put down to gain some leverage, I was a problem teenager who got them annoyed about most of what I did.

In hurt and blame

After I left Nigeria, in snippets of conversation I would hear of my sister’s condition, her undulating health status and the complaint that she was not giving enough consideration to her health. That was confirmed when I was able to obtain a full diagnosis from the doctors after her health deteriorated rapidly in mid-2015.

I had begun to mourn my sister and my daughter from that point, not out of resignation but in understanding the gravity of the diagnosis and the prognosis. I still hold the view that in a way my mother bears some responsibility for the way things turned out. We have not spoken and we probably would never speak because of this.

Respecting her choices

From the moment I was acquainted with the situation, I did communicate with my sister through other means apart from speech. It appeared some decisions were being made on her behalf that she was not happy to follow, she did not want a kidney transplant even though that would have given her respite and there was a time she suggested moving abroad to continue her education, giving her the opportunity to have better medical treatment.

At a time when she appeared despondent, I shared my own story about how I lost everything after cancer and invariably that included what she would have been a beneficiary of. I respected her being adamant about the choices she wanted for herself. Then when I was told that she was beginning to think of dying, I resigned myself to honouring that decision and so a few weeks after that she died.

For a memorial beyond the memories

My brother and third sister made the burial arrangements and she was committed to earth that same day somewhere far from home and unmarked. Tradition dictates difficult accommodations for grief, for she was survived by her parents and many older siblings.

A few days ago, I asked if a tombstone was being put over her grave, the response I received broke my heart, and at the point, I knew I had not even begun to grieve the passing of my sister. I do not think I understand or appreciate the gravity of the loss and this is from a distance in all ramifications compared to people saw her everyday, as her health declined and life slowly ebbed out of her tormented body.

I took the day off work and returned the next day pre-occupying myself back into work to weather the loss without pausing to emote and reflect. I busied myself to take my thoughts off it and have not given myself the time to consider until I started writing this blog.

I think of my mortality too, times when I wonder if I would be discovered before the maggots have had their wicked feast on my remains. Yet, even if there is nothing after death that I could either do or feel, I would like something to exist as a token of remembrance that I passed through this world noticed for more than a day. I would like that for my sister too because we never said goodbye and after she had gone, I did die a little.

Erratum:

My first sister and her church members made the burial arrangements, I did read that my third sister bathed her body and they all were pall-bearers at the end. As the blog read, I only so much about what is going on in my family.

Why Do I Blog Again?

The ‘Why do I blog?’ Question

Every once in a while, I find myself writing one of those “Why do I blog?” pieces. Sometimes, there is no particular answer to that question, when I consider the times I have written the silliest stuff and found that someone else can relate to the silliness.

It simply means no life or life story is insignificant, we all have stories to tell and we restrain ourselves from telling those stories because we over-analyse the interest, the import, the humour, the readability or our ability. The simplest stories are sometimes the most impactful to the reader.

Then again, in my 14^th year of blogging, I can assure you that blogging is not easy, it is difficult, it can be inconsistent especially if you set goals for blogging and most of the time, there is no inspiration or drive to write anything, for days, for weeks, though rarely ever months.

The way you feel

I have written many times before that blogs are the way you see things, how you are affected and possibly what your opinions are. By the time you’ve written a sentence for each of those points, you already have a blog. The framework or skeleton of a blog is a blog, you don’t have to stress yourself about it.

I did not start blogging to gain popularity, notoriety or recognition, I just blogged because I have an active mind, lots of thoughts, many thoughts crazier than you can ever imagine and out of my love for expression. That I have garnered any readership of my blog is just fortunate and I am grateful for that.

It’s about moments

I am not a professional blogger and my activity on other social media platforms as Twitter, Facebook and Instagram do not substitute for the rich expression in blogging. Blogs are more manageable. I would go as far as to say that you may rarely get the inspiration to blog, do not depend on it as the impetus to write. Blogging grows out of moments and if you live the moment and cherish the moments, you will always have something to write about, your perspective of things.

Life is full of moments and that is what is unique to every individual, each moment is a story mostly untold. In some cases, all I have done is to begin to write or type, the thoughts become the words that become the blog. I wrote this in the waiting room of a clinic this morning.

The masterpiece of self-expression

The length of a blog is immaterial, some blogs are long and others short, there is an art to expression and the canvas we are offered to express ourselves is broad and free, if we dare to wield the brushstrokes daubing the canvas with colour, we might end up with a masterpiece – live dangerously.

Why do I blog? I blog because my life is full of moments, some forgettable, many memorable and in all, the moments are journaled into what has become a 14-year catalogue of what is essentially an ordinary life.

Everyone is a blogger, you have moments, those moments are stories, stories that need telling. Start telling your own story in your own words. Start blogging.

Why do I blog? Over the years.

Blog - Tardy as it goes (January 2004) Written after a month of blogging.

Blog - Blogging for my own pleasure (July 2006)

Blog - Still learning to write blogs (January 2010)

Blog - My Own Blog Writing Rules (May 2011)

Blog - Thought Picnic: Losing the might to fight (write) (March 2012)

Blog - Blogging: Facing the shame of my bad writing (September 2013)

Blog - Blogging: Why You Should Blog (October 2013)

Blog - Thought Picnic: Finding purpose in the therapy of my blogs (November 2013)

Blog - The Gift (January 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: On why we should all blog (September 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: And more graffiti with punctuation (September 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: I write to please myself (July 2015)

Blog - Why do they read this blog? (November 2015)

The waiting room

What is there to hate?
For all the time we had to wait,
It’s not like we were late,
For what wasn’t really a date,
A walk-in centre at any rate,
Yet over four hours at the gate,
Flustered and ready to berate,
One man’s anger I had to deflate,
For he was beginning to grate,
Without a cue or a queue to abate,
And though I was not feeling great,
We all chose to relate,
Then I was three down from eight,
Before I knew my fate.

Thought Picnic: Taking the animal out of the workplace

The jungle at work

In a working career that is in its 30^th year, I have only twice encountered a situation where the one bestowed the privilege of leadership has been no less a member of the fraternity of the silverback gorilla in the jungle.

It is as if every concept of leading men was taken out of the management guide of Tarzan in his element. They having mastered the jargon and act of obfuscation where the multitude of words suggests the vacuity of purpose, everyone enduring the onslaught of bullshit laid out by the trowel.

Courtesy always matters

In some instances, I have considered myself probably too old-fashioned for certain environments from the surfeit of expletives in the speech to the lack of basic manners in address and conversation, the act of communication might well be served with grunts, growls, barks and quacks.

I have seen better in the animal kingdom in terms of social development and grooming, like who sits beside you on the train or on an aeroplane, you can’t choose the class, breeding or comportment of most of the colleagues you would end up working with.

In the main, even the difficult ones for whatever reason I always found accommodation for and cultivated the means of creating mutual respect which has developed into a friendship. I like to think I am quite easy to get along with. Courtesy matters to me and it is completely in my manner, nature and rearing to be courteous.

Of rotten disrespect

What I cannot stand and abide is indifference and disrespect, especially from those I need to work with daily. Situations where requirements, goals and deliverables that are primarily my function to provide filtering down to me via the grapevine rather than communication and where such attitudes when challenged do not elicit a positive response. A case of persons impervious adaptation within a diverse environment or maybe they cannot handle diversity at all.

Such was the situation that one has had to face in those two situations, animus and uncouth behaviour caught within the metaphor of a rocking horse, much activity, many meetings, idiotic jargon and unnecessary stress borne of being belittled and patronised as if your sojourn in that setting is the pinnacle of your career achievements.

We are first human

The workplace is where people come to work, but primarily the people are human beings, from all backgrounds too diverse to list but amenable to the vagaries of good business conduct. The have feelings, families, lives and much more. When you take away the fundamentals of humanity in your dealings with your colleagues at work, you create tension leading to the untenable.

The absence of the human touch regardless of your inadequacies, prejudices and even ineptitude, leaves one with no other option than to walk and there comes a time when a man has too much self-respect to be treated with disrespect.