I’ve never met a Nigerian who doesn’t know who Fela was. I say ‘was’ cos Fela passed on several years ago, but his legacy still lives on–in the hearts and minds of his fans.
“Who is Fela?” you ask, your mind already going through the list of famous artists you’re familiar with.
Fela is a legend. An artist who’s famous for not just his music, but the meanings behind every word he sings. To understand Fela and what goes on in his mind, you gotta go right back–back to the deep-rooted culture of his people.
You give me that ‘what the heck are you talking about?’ look.
I ignore you and shake my head in pity. Unless you’ve lived in Nigeria and seen things for yourself, you’ll probably never get why Fela means so much to those who are lucky to have had the pleasure of his entertainment/teaching.
Abruptly you ask, “What makes Fela’s music so famous?” Your mind is already browsing through the ‘rock and roll’ legends you’ve been opportuned to know: The Beatles, Kiss, Steely Dan, James Gang, Jonas Brothers(?) Lol!!!
Well, I totally can’t capture the true essence of Fela Kuti and what his music means to Nigerians and many Africans at large. What I can do, is give his dedicated fans a chance to speak from their hearts and tell you exactly what it is they root about Fela’s songs.
So, all you Nigerians out there, if you’re a true fan of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, tell us why you love his music, tell us what his music means to you.
Imagine the music and the feverish dance-steps! Most of you Lagosians, Nigerians, and lovers of Afro beats know what I’m talking about. Whatever you’re doing, wherever you are –whether at home, out in the city, or even totally out in a foreign country– whenever you hear the beat, you just feel like getting straight down and doing a jig or two. Lol!!!
My favorite is the song my Uncle always starts off his parties with, a song that created so much buzz in 2001/2002, I’ve been told:
“Pade mi ni sale…!!!!!”
“Aaaaahhhhh Under!!!!!!”
Yeah, that’s right. You totally know who I’m talking about. You’re already standing in that legendary dancing pose, shoulders back, hips down, butt stuck-out, and backbone set to undulate. You wait for the next cue:
“Le le le le le le le– le le le le– le le le le le le…”
The metallic sound of trumpets, then:
“Arege ji ah! Arege ji ah ah….”
“Aaaahhhh, Under!”
Then follows the well-known lyrics accompanied by staccato crazy beats with the Yoruba talking drums.
“Isale ele ele, konko konko…”
“E gbe jo oooo!!!”
“Kon Below! Konko Below!! Kon Below!!! Konko Below!!!!”
“UNDER!!!!!”
I never really figured out if the catch word is “Under” or “Thunder”, or both. But the song is quite addictive, I must admit. Can’t be totally captured with just words. This here, friends, will require a depicting video.
Just so we’re clear, I’m talking of the one and only, Lagbaja, the masked King of the new millennium Afro beats. See link to a you-tube video of his hit song:
Very captivating, huh? I thought so too when I first heard it, even though I couldn’t understand a word, except “Below”. Lol!!!
To tell the truth, I’d still like to find out what the lyrics mean some time.
Anyways, Lagos parties are something every teenager needs to experience at least once in his/her lifetime.
“What about High-school parties?” You ask, not sure what on earth I’m totally driving at.
Teenage American parties, you mean? Oh puhleease, give me a total break! There just isn’t any comparison!!! Those stolen-beer and pizza-driven excuses for a good time totally fade right into the background beside a Lagos street party.
Yeah! That’s right! It’s not just the colorful attire of the party-goers, the wide-reaching head-ties of the women, the rich agabadas worn by the men, the flashy jewelries, great high-life music, or delicious foods and refreshments supplied as ‘item seven.’ Lol!!!
To be frank with you, in comparison to what I now know as an ‘Owambe party’, which is the most common native party in Lagos; prom parties just feel so drab and boring with the punch and pizza–nothing really much to it. Ugh!!!
One thing I noticed about Lagos parties though, you don’t really need an exotic venue to pull-off the perfect entertaining scene. Most people just use their compounds and the free spaces behind their homes. However, if you’re one of those who live in a flat (apartment) or totally don’t have a wide compound, don’t sweat it. Just use your street!!!!
“No way!!!” You eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “You mean as in streets where cars commute and everything?” you ask, looking quite incredulous. “Seriously?”
Yep!!! Totally!!! Just wait till it’s about 6pm, then measure-out about a two-hundred feet of the street in front of your home– spanning to the left and right– and clamp-down some road-block signs at each end. Then scatter around several plastic chairs and tables and position a few bouncers at strategic points to warn and redirect traffic. Mount an intimidating sound system with heavy-duty speakers wired from the inside of your building with plenty of extensions.
Voila!!!
You totally got yourself a party venue. Lol!!!
“You must be kidding me?” You remark, totally blown outta your mind. “A street party, how cool is that?” You think for a coupla minutes, then ask, “What about the cops? Howddya deal with ’em, huh?”
Cops? What cops? The same guys the party host already ‘sorted’ with a coupla thousand bucks (Naira)?
Naahhh, street parties don’t get bothered by no cops, irritated neighbors, or grandparents. The general rule of thumbs for such gatherings is very simple:
If you can’t beat ’em; join ’em!!!
Lol!!!
“Wow,” you say, totally blown away. “I so wanna spend my summer hols in Lagos.
Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Remember, the above also goes for coming-of-age parties, birthdays, school proms, naming ceremonies, bachelor parties, burial wake-keeping, golden-jubilees, after wedding parties, church functions, sports victory, etc, etc. You can basically celebrate anything in Lagos, even your first job, your first car, college graduations or your house opening. These parties bring the body and soul of the city together in perfect harmony. And you wanna know something cool?
Everyone is totally invited. In effect, a second home for street parties are:
M’ogbo, mo branch!
Indirect translation: I heard the music, I totally invited myself. And all my hommies.
“Yeah right!!!” You roll your eyes. “The more the merrier, huh?”
Yep!!! That’s exactly what I’m talking about! All ya party rats outta ‘ere, please join me:
E gbe jo o!!!
Lotta Luv,
Carlotta
**Stick around, definitely more to come. To reserve read excerpts and reserve copies of the actual FEDDIE GIRL novel by Nona David, visit Bernard Books Publishing
Street hawking in Lagos. What a unique experience! Where else on this earth can one afford prompt service coupled with freedom of choice and the chance to compare, contrast, and haggle prices of goods and services with vendors, and totally feel like a celebrity?
Not in a million cities. Only in Lagos, Nigeria.
Yeah, that’s right. I totally said it. What you gonna do? Drag my white tush to Kiri-Kiri prison?
Anyone who’s ever been to Lagos, even for one day, totally knows the chant of the street-hawkers:
Bread-dy Agege o!
Ewa Agoyin, o wa o!
Buy pure-water!
Ewedu re!
Coke! Fanta!! Sprite!!!
Guguru ati ekpa!
Hot Moin-moin!
Akara, Kpoff-kpoff, Chin-chin!!!
Guinea-fowl eggs!
Dodo! Boole!
It goes on and on and never ends, one street hawker–flat metal tray balanced on his/her head–after another, selling edible goodies from dawn till dusk.
Who can resist their call? No one! That’s why their service is so world-famous.
Indigens say Lagos is for the active and highly energetic individuals. Yeah, right!
Ironically, the lazy and sedentary thrive well in Lagos too. Basically, the street-hawkers live for these people. All one needs to do is drag oneself outta bed and go camp in front of the gate to ones home. All the stuff you need for the day will pass by you in the space of thirty-five minutes. From bath soap to toothbrush and toothpaste. From hot tea and freshly baked bread to heavy meals, snacks, and soft drinks. Hell, you can even make a phone call with a rented cell phone! What more can one ask for?
And to totally cap it all, stuffs are hawked in convenient quantities. You need just two slices of bread for a sandwich? No problem! the street-hawkers will totally sell just two slices. Lol! You only need a squeeze of toothpaste? Not an issue! You only wanna purchase just three tablespoons of hot cocoa and a dash of milk for your morning drink? Sure, they’re totally up for it! You need a handful of detergent for your laundry? Okey-dokie, one handful of ‘super-blue omo’ is measured and priced accordingly. Lol!!!
One favorite theory of mine is that many Europeans are in the wrong country–especially the heavy and lazy ones. Oh yeah? What other city encourages the sedentary lifestyle in humans more than Lagos? Imagine a city where sloth and bumming around is totally acceptable. Vendors bring everything you ever wish for to your doorstep, enabling you to just sit right there on your backside while you lose weight and acquire a long-lasting tan without much trouble. Lol!!!
Oh and it doesn’t end with just hanging outside your gate. While riding in vehicles you can totally buy stuff off the streets too. Who says you gotta stop and exit your vehicle? Nope. No need to bother your precious self. The street-hawkers totally get it. They already anticipate your needs and will rush their wares to your car window. Don’t worry, they are adept at chasing after your car even in the heaviest of traffic. Some of them can totally keep pace with a vehicle moving at 30 kilometers per hour. Amazing, huh?
Lol!!!
While in a car, please, the last thing you wanna do is push your head outta your window and yell, “Bread!” Lol!!! The next thing you’re gonna know, many different kinds of bread are so gonna be shoved in your face. Large loaves, small loaves, dark-chocolate, white, wheat, mixed, milky, sliced, heavy–name it, you got it!
So basically, you now get the idea, right? Hey? You still with me?
I steal a look at your face and realize you’re totally fast asleep.
I’ve been totally rambling to myself for the last hour. Fat luck!
I’ll be back with more!
Lotta Luv,
Carlotta
For information about the upcoming novel, FEDDIE GIRL by Nona David, visit Bernard Books Publishing http://bernardbooks.com
So why did I get on a plane heading to Lagos, Nigeria?
To be honest, I asked myself the same question everyday for the past year. I don’t know why I let my parents talk me into it, despite the forebodings at the back of mind. Guess I just wanted to be cool and show them no amount of punishment would totally faze me.
Oh boy, was I wrong!
First off, my mom came along for the ride but my dad refused to comply, even though the punishment was his idea in the first place.
You look at me in an odd way, as if to say, you dumb babe! “That probably raised a red flag, huh?”
It did, believe me, but I was too busy bitching about my cell phone privileges being taken away, to notice. Talk about the classic ‘penny wise, pound foolish’ syndrome.
There I was, sulking about my Blackberry, not even noticing my parents had something more sinister in mind. When I finally caught up to what was on board, it was too late!
“Jeez!” you yell, “what are you? Like the dumbest kid on the block?” You shake your head in disgust.
I cringe from you and and your snarky attitude and hide my irritation behind my words. I know you’re right, but say what you may, had you been in my shoes, even you wouldn’t have seen it coming.
You roll your eyes to high heavens and smirk, “Yeah, right!”
Seriously!!! Lagos, Nigeria isn’t exactly San Francisco, California.
So like, we stepped out of the Muritala Mohammed airport building and it suddenly hit me:
Mosquitoes are truly the most evil and vicious insects you’ll ever come across.
“No kidding!” you exclaim, running my pink hairbrush through your hair. “You think I oughta shave?” You peer at your reflection in the mirror, caressing your smooth jaw with long tapered fingers. You have no stubble–you’re only fourteen.
Well, yeah. I’m referring to the mosquitoes, not your non-existent facial hair. Like most pre-pubescent males, you’re already obsessed with growing a moustache.
Anyways, back to my story. In Lagos, the mosquitoes are as large as moths, noisy and unrelenting. They must have a unique way of discerning fresh blood, cos they descended on me and my mom in droves as soon as we stepped out in the open, forming a distorted halo over our heads and singing in our ears.
Their bites are sharp and stinging, the pain akin to none other than that of bees. They never let-up, no matter how hard you slap at them. Hiding under layers of clothing don’t help either cos they’ve figured out a way to feed on you through your pants.
The frustrating part is, you put up your hand to wave them away, they go ahead and bite your knuckles and the skin underneath your nails, the two places that are the most difficult to appease by scratching–assuming you can find the exact spot to scratch.
“I can imagine,” you say, not really getting it.
But I won’t blame ya cos, unless you’ve been to Lagos and have been attacked by a million of those bad boys at once, you’ll probably never get it. End of story!
Mosquitoes are just one of the many evils of Lagos. The traffic congestion, air and garbage pollution, lack of traffic laws, harassment by road-side vendors, and general lack of law and order will blow you away.
“How come?” you ask, finally letting go of your boyish chin. You pick up a scraggly sneaker and stuff your sock-less foot into it.
What I’m saying is, you don’t wanna make the mistake of taking Lagos, Nigeria for granted. It’s a city like no other. Lagosians fondly refer to it as Eko. As far as they are concerned, no other city in the world can totally offer what Lagos does.
And, after spending a whole year in Nigeria, I began to see it too.
The exciting night life, the sleepless natives, the exotic and mouth-watering foods, the language, the accent, the thankfulness of the people when blessings come their way, the frustrations of business owners when power goes out, the rowdy markets sporting anything you desire under the sun, the intimidating area boys, the church functions, the parties and ceremonies, the music, the pulse of the streets. It’s a whole lot to take in at first glance. But before long, the city gets to you and you get infected with the feverish enthusiasm.
You pause in the process of knotting the laces of your second sneaker. “You don’t say?” You stare at me with eyes wide as saucers.
On the contrary, I really do say. Just three weeks in the city and I totally found myself screaming with the rest of them:
Lagos for life!
Eko o ni baje!
Lotta Luv,
Carlotta
(Definitely more to come, so stay connected.)
For excerpts and information about the upcoming novel FEDDIE GIRL, visit http://bernardbooks.com
So I beat-up on two kids half my age and landed them in the emergency room with cracked ribs.
“What’s the big deal?” You ask from the side or your mouth, not letting go of the Nintendo cruiser you clutch in your hands.
Well, the big deal is that my parents panicked and catapulted us from the our lovely home in San Francisco to the middle of nowhere in Owasso, Oklahoma. Major downer!
You sip from your soda can. “I still don’t get it,” you mutter, slurping the drink around in your mouth, “so you relocated to the mid-lands, who gives a shit?”
I have just one question. You ever been to Owasso, Oklahoma?
No?
Then shut the hell up and take my word for it. After living most of my life in ‘Frisco, Owasso felt like cowboy land to me. Shoot! They even have cowboys and totally have like, native Indian names for their towns. Osawatomie, Oolagah, Owasso, Okmulgee…
Like, who the hell named these towns? The guys from ‘Dukes of Hazard?’ Crazy!!!
Anyways, we moved to Owasso (pronounced ‘Owass-ah’ by many natives), and I hated my parents for it. They put me in some middle school filled with a bunch of stupid kids that know nothing about being cool. Many of them wouldn’t even know what a cigarette looked like if it came poking them in the eye.
Bummer!!!
I had no friends. My best friend Sasha was back in ‘Frisco dating cute guys and lounging in pools and beaches, sipping slushies and eating ice-cream. Me? I was caged in Owasso, wearing drab clothes to school and eating cafeteria-cooked-crap for lunch. Yuck!!!
Even the extracurricular activities in the school was like, totally booorrriiing! There was no group for aspiring actresses like me. No serious music group with incredible talent like mine. And definitely no musicals or talent shows whatsoever. Instead, they had baseball. Who the heck wants to play baseball?
You give me a reproachful stare. “Baseball is an American fave,” you say.
Yeah, yeah, Baseball and the Angels and the Braves and yatty-yatty-yada!!! Give me a break!
So, like, the only kid I identified with at that middle school in Owasso was this guy named Samuel Machiovich. Cool kids in the school nick-named him ‘Slinky Sam.’
I was cool, so I called him Slinky Sam too. He was the major and the most widely connected supplier of cigarettes and drugs in the school. I was one of his frequent customers…Lol!!!
“What!!!!” you scream. “Cigarettes? Whatcha go picking up that disgusting habit for?”
First off, smoking is not a disgusting habit, at least, not when you stick to the occasional cigarette. It’s when you become addicted and or graduate to reefers that it becomes disgusting–and at whatever age you start doing it.
In my case, I started smoking cigs when I was like, eight? Nine? I forget. But, while in ‘Frisco, I only smoked like one or two sticks in three months.
Then we moved to Owasso and I met Slinky Sam and the likes of him. Things quickly took a turn for the worse. I started smoking more frequently, you know, just for relaxation and to let-off steam. I was netting in at about two sticks in three days. Then the urge to smoke became more insistent. Before I knew it, I was smoking a whooping pack of cigs in two weeks! Gawd!!!
Then guess what?
“What?” you ask, all eyes and ears now. (Finally, I’ve been able to gain your full attention. Lol!)
Okay, so, Slinky Sam totally introduced me to something stronger than just tobacco.
“I knew it!” you yell. “The Slimy bastard!”
Well, it’s not totally his fault. I could have said no if I wanted to. Problem was–I seriously needed something to get my mind off my parents selfish decisions and judgment. Jeez! What do they know about my life?
So, at first, I tried a few kinds of weed, nothing too serious, just harmless grass and stuff. Then one day, Slinky got me the real deal. Marijuana!!!
“Marijuana??!!!” You yell…
Yup, it cost me ten bucks a roll too. Slinky said it was the best weed in town.
“Whatcha do? You smoke it?” You are now at the edge of your seat, perched and staring at me in awe and unbelief.
To be fair to you, the answer is yes! I did smoke the reefer… We cut classes and went behind the school dumpster during school hours. I took one puff and closed my eyes, hoping to savor the promised freedom the warm smoke would bring.
The next thing I knew, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I was busted!!!
By the time I snapped my eyes open, Slinky Sam was nowhere to be found.
You laugh so hard you fall to the floor and roll around. “I told you so!”
Yeah, and honestly, I don’t blame ya! That weed-smoking escapade was the last straw for my parents. I got expelled from middle school and three weeks later, I found myself on a plane nosing its way to Nigeria, West-AFRICA!!!
You betcha! I’ll be back with more, so hang around!
I’ve never met a Nigerian who doesn’t know who Fela was. I say ‘was’ cos Fela passed on several years ago, but his legacy still lives on–in the hearts and minds of his fans.
Feddie Girl 