tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61763579735357790102024-02-20T04:57:58.926-08:00Yorùbá YonderThe world through the eyes of a Yorùbá travellerAbiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-46845531883218512682023-10-03T10:49:00.000-07:002023-10-03T10:49:27.148-07:00Forward Agenda<span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Ẹ káàrọ̀ everyone. Welcome to this presentation on the Benin Robots.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHc4HJit4BcG3i3gxGTRr5eUk06l_MWT6j-aMtFKu7n9x77xWzOmcJzl6xVvTKGa9DMV3UNM_rcRIpAntrXtEiEY7tDv_6-OiUgqREQZF0w45QQrp-71QJQGg7104ahidG8ovU_h6DQ1NJ6er2gDoSce-NxQW02Ub2ApHT0IZHVzAyh-YGlw1Uv3F88Y/s724/1%20-%20Woman%20at%20podium%202b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="724" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHc4HJit4BcG3i3gxGTRr5eUk06l_MWT6j-aMtFKu7n9x77xWzOmcJzl6xVvTKGa9DMV3UNM_rcRIpAntrXtEiEY7tDv_6-OiUgqREQZF0w45QQrp-71QJQGg7104ahidG8ovU_h6DQ1NJ6er2gDoSce-NxQW02Ub2ApHT0IZHVzAyh-YGlw1Uv3F88Y/s320/1%20-%20Woman%20at%20podium%202b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú took a big breath as she centred herself on the podium surveying the 2,000-strong crowd gathered at the Ẹdo Museum. The Robotics Engineer had been working towards this convention project throughout her final PhD year at Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University. Finally, the day had come to share her ideas and she was feeling a bit shaky. But she’d had a smart ànkàrá outfit made with a vibrant gèlè wrapped around her freshly braided hair, looking outwardly presentable to induce a confident delivery. She took a sip of water, looked into the sea of expectant faces, and continued: </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘The continent has come a long way since the Africa Union’s <a href="https://au.int/en/agenda2063/overview" target="_blank">Agenda 10,104</a> strategic initiatives striving for ‘The Africa We Want’. And indeed, great milestones have been achieved over the 50 years of its implementation for the prosperity of our peoples. I’m glad the Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire government has recognised even more can be done within Technology, Innovation and Sustainability.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú was now in her stride. Remembering all her hours of prep, her autopilot kicked in as the words began flowing freely. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘I’d now like to share my bid for the Agenda 10,104+ government funding: the Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114. ’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiCU4Q3LQjnK95YHAHdaVfxs7v4OtK45SwWEyqhaJqDb83c97HmWJZ_tmbMQLd8SknzMZyuoh7ImO2LksnDNJ99OSJrfcTUV5z6rSK-2x06oD1c4CMX6Nay3o72nh0Hbzb84Z6XW2YlsCn_y9A_ucnSWk-NKBMvGji4boe5BrYztVfs8H5cUNVrw7Rbk/s244/2%20-%20Benin%20Bronze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="244" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiCU4Q3LQjnK95YHAHdaVfxs7v4OtK45SwWEyqhaJqDb83c97HmWJZ_tmbMQLd8SknzMZyuoh7ImO2LksnDNJ99OSJrfcTUV5z6rSK-2x06oD1c4CMX6Nay3o72nh0Hbzb84Z6XW2YlsCn_y9A_ucnSWk-NKBMvGji4boe5BrYztVfs8H5cUNVrw7Rbk/w320-h320/2%20-%20Benin%20Bronze.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Without a hitch, the veil beside the podium dropped and the audience collectively gasped. Standing next to Ọlánrewájú was a ‘full-sized’ Benin Bronze with a vertically-lined head emulating Orí-Olókun…on a shiny, bronze, top-to-toe body, further lit up by the multiple flashes from the press pit photographers. Seeing the crowd’s clear intrigue and simultaneous uncertainty, Ọlánrewájú continued: </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘This Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ model is named for Kọ́jọ́dá year 10,114 ten years from now, so you understand this will take us into the future.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Over a millennium ago, we Yorùbá built the Sùǹgbọ́ Ẹrẹ́dò and Benin Wall embattlements for irrigation and protection, the largest engineering feat on Earth to this day. And we did that without robots…so think what we can do WITH robots!! With the Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114, we can build effective infrastructure in line with our Betterment Agenda.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Half the press core hastily jotted notes on their griot pads. Ọlánrewájú saw she’d got them with that one! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqupag_a4uKULTBdbSSa7-Kpc0w8WET9Yung045AoqK7w0hK2FaP4UIOapsOrpxqEtqxOMFPCwpB5cYofuulmj4p64Ot9aGDS057uRM-iyARP3bH_c6G8AiIYHywt-iqfgQQqyB26OgGDd_Lyu6T6PBIa02NsTmb39wfLVDXtw2xPjM0bqzoj4nVfQBc/s645/3%20-%20Mansa%20Musa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="566" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqupag_a4uKULTBdbSSa7-Kpc0w8WET9Yung045AoqK7w0hK2FaP4UIOapsOrpxqEtqxOMFPCwpB5cYofuulmj4p64Ot9aGDS057uRM-iyARP3bH_c6G8AiIYHywt-iqfgQQqyB26OgGDd_Lyu6T6PBIa02NsTmb39wfLVDXtw2xPjM0bqzoj4nVfQBc/s320/3%20-%20Mansa%20Musa.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>‘As we dig the land, these robots will pinpoint bronze to regenerate themselves, whilst also extracting other metal ores and mineral wealth. We’ll use these to build AND trade, further strengthening our currency, backed with the abundant resources across Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire. Soon, we will have many citizens making history alongside Mansa Musa.’ Ọlánrewájú beamed seeing people smile at her reference to the richest man that ever lived, and a fellow West African from neighbouring Mali. ‘Centuries ago, he found all those wealth building minerals without robots …so think what we can do WITH robots!!!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Note their use will align with Agenda 10,104+ regarding sustainability. The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114’s central purpose is conservation, not just of environment, but also of culture. Like their vertical lines, these Benin Robots will have our stories AND potential etched into them.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú took the mic off the stand, left the podium, and ran her fingers over the machine’s surface. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘These Robots will also fulfil the original mandate of the Benin Bronzes as solid libraries of consultation. Instead of recording written data, Benin artisans depicted data in sculptures to direct traditional ceremonies and dress. Indeed, this Ẹdo Museum venue was founded to display this cultural heritage. So yes, they will extract natural wealth from Yorùbá soils to build the future AND perpetuate cultural wealth of Yorùbá legacies fortifying us with our past, history in motion educating the coming generations, thus reinforcing our identity…and you know how we Yorùbá love education!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The peppered smiles in the crowd spread wider across the focused faces. Ọlánrewájú had them now. Moving across the stage, she pointed at the jumbo screen. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW6jXDLbHdjpEDfpTrMkT1PZARSBL_OEW8edztl4Qx4COoI5oSC-JlhnGEJoJyQQCxi-JQ20ilTkf73ZkWgqYQpbeQh_BA4ahyphenhyphenCv2zt4UVulX6BWJNV0Y-swt1DMvfSJgkNAm_W00Huq5Vp84k-JkStoUf0viSyf_XWZLk-AuXXYHI1zjbARtrOcpWgg/s233/4%20-%20Oduduwa%20alphabet.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="233" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW6jXDLbHdjpEDfpTrMkT1PZARSBL_OEW8edztl4Qx4COoI5oSC-JlhnGEJoJyQQCxi-JQ20ilTkf73ZkWgqYQpbeQh_BA4ahyphenhyphenCv2zt4UVulX6BWJNV0Y-swt1DMvfSJgkNAm_W00Huq5Vp84k-JkStoUf0viSyf_XWZLk-AuXXYHI1zjbARtrOcpWgg/w320-h308/4%20-%20Oduduwa%20alphabet.gif" width="320" /></a></div>‘Cooperation is key in the Agenda 10,104+ project, but we must also keep our edge in the global market. Thus I’ve built in an anti-hacking failsafe: the robotics programming language is completely in the <a href="https://globalvoices.org/2020/03/10/this-chief-hopes-yoruba-speakers-adopt-his-newly-invented-talking-alphabet/" target="_blank">Odùduwà alphabet</a>.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘HA! Now I KNOW you’re CRAZY for SURE! <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">WÈRÈ TI MU Ẹ OOO!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The convention crowd whipped their collective heads to the left towards the disturbance. There stood Eromidọlá, a rival robotics engineer who’d been vexed about Ọlánrewájú’s Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ project beating hers to represent Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University for the Agenda 10,104+ government funding. Eromidọlá’s name meant ‘<a href="https://www.momjunction.com/baby-names/yoruba/" target="_blank">my thoughts become wealth</a>’ and she was always determined to fulfil that mandate, but this heckling was next level! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Don’t waste your funding on this one. How can you rely on ideas from a broken mind? I’ve seen the psych reports, she’s DYSLEXIC! Her head is not correct. Odùduwà alphabet? Can anyone even read this script…and you expect to write computer code with it? Benin Robots?? This is a fever dream which will become a nightmare, an embarrassment for Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire if you give funding for this Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ…whatever!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The crowd’s murmuring got louder and louder as they glanced back and forth between Eromidọlá’s smug face and Ọlánrewájú’s perplexed one. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The PhD researcher was visibly rattled, shifting from foot to foot, both hands gripping the mic. As she looked down trying to gather a response, her eyes caught her new ànkàrá outfit and her fresh braids brushed her cheek. Ọlánrewájú had made it all the way to the Ẹdo Museum stage, and she was determined to reach her goal. She looked up, went to the podium, took a deep breath, and spoke: </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Government officials, press members, convention attendees, this impromptu revelation is true. I am indeed dyslexic. But my right-brain-hemisphere dominance is a strength, NOT a weakness. Did you know over a tenth of Yorùbá people are dyslexic, one of the highest proportions in the world? Yet we still boast genius level intelligence and unsurpassed diligence. Like other dyslexic innovators; Aderin-Pocock, Greider, Einstein and more, I see the world differently. And THAT’S why my plan WILL work.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú slowed her hurried voice. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘These Benin Robots are designed to accommodate our neurotypical AND neurodiverse workforce. When my machines encounter metal ores during excavation, they vocalise their findings.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú walked to the robot, lifted its lined-hand and placed her bracelet on its palm. The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114’s eyes instantly flashed as the vertical lines shimmered before its entire surface changed from brown to gold. Its stoic face became animated and said, ‘WÚRÀ’, drawing more astonished gasps from the audience. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdX9dxaxrsSsw4gas2kZulNe13tVk5BL5oaBkQy38NtKpEcfK-tr-GQoFueLBbLALAogVmw2TXlzF3r3nO94P0PEOEAgLu7KwgQfCrKykNmMBTTTILZ1tqZZYmk6h7wyeG8jQLtgHr8VnyDa87wcI6XgDHv5vZf6B-IJiOJAJXs3uPaVJQcj9il0htMTI/s345/5%20-%20ankara%20fabrics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="345" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdX9dxaxrsSsw4gas2kZulNe13tVk5BL5oaBkQy38NtKpEcfK-tr-GQoFueLBbLALAogVmw2TXlzF3r3nO94P0PEOEAgLu7KwgQfCrKykNmMBTTTILZ1tqZZYmk6h7wyeG8jQLtgHr8VnyDa87wcI6XgDHv5vZf6B-IJiOJAJXs3uPaVJQcj9il0htMTI/s320/5%20-%20ankara%20fabrics.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>‘Yes, it is indeed gold,’ said Ọlánrewájú. ‘These machines change colour every time they come across different minerals. So our workers receive immediate visual AND audio confirmation of their discoveries. On a good excavation day, they will rival us for the best multi-coloured ànkàrá collage!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Someone called out, ‘Ah, they will be the life of our Ówàmbẹ̀ parties with this custom-made, stylish aṣọ ẹ̀bí ooo!’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The crowd laughed and Ọlánrewájú knew she had won them back. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘More importantly, this multi-sensory differentiation appeals to different brain types, accounting for accessibility and inclusivity for our workforce, wouldn’t you agree Eromidọlá?’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú’s eyes shifted to her heckler who could only stand in stunned silence. Eromidọlá and everyone at Ilé-Ifẹ̀ University hadn’t seen the colour changing feature as Ọlánrewájú had kept it secret. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Okay, that’s all very well and good, but I have a concern’ said a voice from the crowd. A man in Babalaláwo attire stood up. ‘I’m an Ifá priest and many of our Benin Bronzes depict venerated Òrìṣà like this Olókun example. Could people start worshipping the robots if they look like our deities?’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘It’s a valid concern,’ said Ọlánrewájú. ‘But I assure you this won’t happen. We don't worship the robots, the robots serve us, we have dominion over them.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘This new programming is very advanced,’ said another audience member, ‘what fail safes are in place so they don’t become sentient and try to control US?’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘These Robots do not have inner spiritual orí, only we do,’ replied Ọlánrewájú. ‘We can use our orí, spirit and intelligence, in designing their encoding so they can help us. Like Yorùbá culture, the base coding of the Benin Robots is respect. These machines will recognise our respect for the role they play and will always work with us to move Ilẹ̀ Káàárọ̀-Oòjíire forward.’ </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKIuCkSZ6ZEO8CRWw-grtiGXXAihsHPl84UsywImBzJGk0WMcBv_EtUSr73mH__vpHmigtazi7c6f63VlWXrIkqEFB1-p1_WfLmHcKAjqlkEtzOQQhkqZP4MRjDdLsba4jkQayZNpW7Fssvq9LYADW5wbjBc6DQRXHQoKVjZEo39CFmf5KrKC6gfX8tc/s1600/6%20-%20audience%20cheering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKIuCkSZ6ZEO8CRWw-grtiGXXAihsHPl84UsywImBzJGk0WMcBv_EtUSr73mH__vpHmigtazi7c6f63VlWXrIkqEFB1-p1_WfLmHcKAjqlkEtzOQQhkqZP4MRjDdLsba4jkQayZNpW7Fssvq9LYADW5wbjBc6DQRXHQoKVjZEo39CFmf5KrKC6gfX8tc/s320/6%20-%20audience%20cheering.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Ẹ̀rọ Idẹ 10114 then automatically went into dọ̀bálẹ̀ mode, prostrating flat on the stage saying, ‘I AM HERE TO SERVE’. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The crowd erupted into raucous applause, all except Eromidọlá who gave Ọlánrewájú side-eye, miffed her plan to destabilise the whole funding bid had backfired, perhaps even strengthening it. Still, the convention presentations weren’t over yet. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ọlánrewájú thanked the audience, saying ‘Ẹ ṣé púpọ’. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She left the podium and her Benin Robot followed her offstage. As the applause finally subsided, she sat front row with the other candidates waiting to see if their funding bids would be successful. Exhaling slowly, Ọlánrewájú thought of her name’s meaning: ‘<a href="https://maternitynest.com/nigerian-baby-names-yoruba-names-boys/" target="_blank">my wealth is in the future</a>/<a href="https://www.yorubaname.com/entries/Olanrewaju" target="_blank">advancing</a>’. With a life mandate infused with innovation and forward seeing, perhaps she had managed to help others see her particular Agenda 10,104+ future too.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This short story was published for in the July 2023 edition of <b><a href="https://www.writersspace.net/download/" target="_blank">Writers Space Africa</a></b> magazine:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.writersspace.net/forward-agenda-a-short-story-by-abiodun-abdul-nigeria/" target="_blank"><b>Forward Agenda – A Short Story by Abíọ́dún Abdul, Nigeria</b></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Here's a review by <b>Bohlokoa Lephoi, Lesotho </b></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbgvVwGDCJMtDlwrEFdHEufyWc6nst-NiRJqokkdslMDyog000iSecLFOpgHGJA2VNUValEo31tX6hxyiRw8Nb746vQYQ9VlKNBEOkCddQP3rmw0KJEeTGH1WaSqgtknAQ1s2aooWqkXAQnixLR2xZWK5cqdk1XxZIiJgA0lw5qHvsksjSRgdsCGNk0c/s1015/WSA%20magazine%20-%20Forward%20Agenda%20b,%20review.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="718" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbgvVwGDCJMtDlwrEFdHEufyWc6nst-NiRJqokkdslMDyog000iSecLFOpgHGJA2VNUValEo31tX6hxyiRw8Nb746vQYQ9VlKNBEOkCddQP3rmw0KJEeTGH1WaSqgtknAQ1s2aooWqkXAQnixLR2xZWK5cqdk1XxZIiJgA0lw5qHvsksjSRgdsCGNk0c/w452-h640/WSA%20magazine%20-%20Forward%20Agenda%20b,%20review.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-44514730401433567072023-05-02T11:21:00.001-07:002023-05-02T11:44:56.030-07:00Tummy Pudge: Internalised Feminism (abridged)<p><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5k8A4xxNR8tyweIgzdQICj7uw4ZhWGLrkQCsv1hHnxjZnNheHW0J90WYDCtOLuMEOapITBuBqvTr403gTybDFJR99bBaaDy4WjPBRZjDMwVINCqkto5SqfPXaNUgKS_7uF5k2f1bljYYwrW2ZdKAG5I7ctBr-Q12-cgHk5q10oTBuMpT-ng-ahQPa/s900/1%20-%20tummy%20pudge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5k8A4xxNR8tyweIgzdQICj7uw4ZhWGLrkQCsv1hHnxjZnNheHW0J90WYDCtOLuMEOapITBuBqvTr403gTybDFJR99bBaaDy4WjPBRZjDMwVINCqkto5SqfPXaNUgKS_7uF5k2f1bljYYwrW2ZdKAG5I7ctBr-Q12-cgHk5q10oTBuMpT-ng-ahQPa/w400-h400/1%20-%20tummy%20pudge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Glorious tummy
pudge<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table></span><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></i></div>‘You </span><span style="font-family: arial;">know, I really don’t like going out dancing these days. Last time, my clothes didn’t fit right and everyone could see my ‘tummy pudge’. </span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That’s what my 28-year-old sister Káyọ̀dé said with a concerned look as she surveyed Brighton beach whilst visiting me at university. I’d always looked up to her all my life, mainly as our 8-year age difference meant I was still in primary school when she herself was at uni, that big, brilliant place of learning. Her higher education status had meant she was a genius of immeasurable proportions in my young eyes, so now aged 20, I wondered why she’d said such an unintelligent thing regarding her body shape. A split second after her self-doubting declaration, I replied with a big enthusiastic smile on my face ‘Oh, I LOVE that!’ Her equally instantaneous response was to whip her head towards my face, her concerned look replaced by disgusted confusion. Her negative reaction to my positive one put me off explaining the nature of my self-assured stance. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqZuXRJ2agQssBH_C9iUq-gi-aF-VXBp9z1-JHVLWc8ITVvAU7mZS2_qPuiVeaQxq3-Ht3vV8IU8knbruytf_cF86tZ3OnBdPSaDfaMvNec4RxAcwYGggzmjBE6awYBrlBO2JYkotrKcGmZKgKwMkmOjwlrnoeCDirPkO7XlLCsmlsiFQx2zIxlkO/s640/2%20-%20Big%20Black%20Girl%20dancing%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="640" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqZuXRJ2agQssBH_C9iUq-gi-aF-VXBp9z1-JHVLWc8ITVvAU7mZS2_qPuiVeaQxq3-Ht3vV8IU8knbruytf_cF86tZ3OnBdPSaDfaMvNec4RxAcwYGggzmjBE6awYBrlBO2JYkotrKcGmZKgKwMkmOjwlrnoeCDirPkO7XlLCsmlsiFQx2zIxlkO/w640-h294/2%20-%20Big%20Black%20Girl%20dancing%20a.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Big Black Girl Magic!</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Not too long before, I’d been out clubbing along the same beachfront dressed to look good (cute flowing top) but more importantly to comfortably bust my killer dance moves (flared black trousers). After seeing my jovial vibes on the dance floor (seriously though, I can move people!), some guys came to join in and I let a tall, dark, handsome one hug me from behind. As he did, his hands made contact with my own tummy pudge that my flowing top had concealed, particular with my ample bosom forming a protracted ridge. Clearly surprised by my considerable mass juxtaposed to my considerable hot-stepping, he’d quickly patted his hands across my mid-section inspecting just what I was working with. Then a second later, he actually grabbed both sides of my pudge and started bouncing it up and down, like gently shaking a tambourine to the music beat. I started laughing at his mini journey from dancing queen interest to pot belly surprise to playful acceptance of my body shape, which aligned with me being happy as a UK size 20 at age 20. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbGjNYw9rj6jqFD6mVFKwaaK4GKt-jCjl5wTO3Sqxl2iYPq06rkdqAEkVDqiPHli1AAwQtwXu5oR7Fofg4MLamPoZ9BWZRCaIJywHfnXtVRo9kvdCuVqEdP6BnQiGObqNvJgEGBr39aJwYPHqsZvScHsb4C16sxEwhyF-JwkpyJVEw9wUhN_nbaQP/s1500/3%20-%20UK%20dress%20sizes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbGjNYw9rj6jqFD6mVFKwaaK4GKt-jCjl5wTO3Sqxl2iYPq06rkdqAEkVDqiPHli1AAwQtwXu5oR7Fofg4MLamPoZ9BWZRCaIJywHfnXtVRo9kvdCuVqEdP6BnQiGObqNvJgEGBr39aJwYPHqsZvScHsb4C16sxEwhyF-JwkpyJVEw9wUhN_nbaQP/w400-h266/3%20-%20UK%20dress%20sizes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Neo-Eurocentric
aesthetics inducing insecurity <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Surely it was the mature thing to recognise that different physicalities, and indeed personalities, can be attractive in their own way (okay, and killer dance moves!) So that really flew in the face of my more mature sister’s irrational concern as a UK size 12 at age 28. The fact that she was a full foot taller than me further demonstrated the proportional distribution of her body fat, never mind supposed ‘tummy pudge’, was negligible in comparison to mine. Yes, there is a valid health concern regarding abdominal obesity which should be acknowledged. But that certainly wasn’t the context or sentiment of Káyọ̀dé’s apparent indignation on the subject, she was worried about neo-Eurocentric aesthetics vs morbidity/longevity. So it begged the question, why this significant mismatch of outlooks between siblings? It would take several years after that Brighton beach interaction for the answers to finally come to me… </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIM4UgAHA_z_NyCKuUX17Uti8xhcws_lnQ-hkF8M8YCJAUYviXCKVgd2QwSdW-hTvayhsG2PQF8uYhK1DZ0_Bk1HC9d3qJwejtDWSDc09W__Y2gxxmY8ELymLigle-GFX8pQYZQWA_8Il0ZvaNSIJa9nvwnj6cRSeHpNtAHLfGPHmeVbtVSBTqDuV/s400/4%20-%20matriarchal%20vs%20patriarchal.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIM4UgAHA_z_NyCKuUX17Uti8xhcws_lnQ-hkF8M8YCJAUYviXCKVgd2QwSdW-hTvayhsG2PQF8uYhK1DZ0_Bk1HC9d3qJwejtDWSDc09W__Y2gxxmY8ELymLigle-GFX8pQYZQWA_8Il0ZvaNSIJa9nvwnj6cRSeHpNtAHLfGPHmeVbtVSBTqDuV/s320/4%20-%20matriarchal%20vs%20patriarchal.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Matriarchal
vs patriarchal mindset</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></div>Background</b>: Growing up in the same Yorùbá-Nigerian family, Káyọ̀dé and I had the same DNA from the same parents, in the same household, sharing the same culture, language, etc. But it took me a really long time to extrapolate that we’d in fact grown up in completely different social circumstances. This was due to our father’s death when she was age 13 and passing into puberty, whilst I was 5 and just emerging from infancy. This meant that for the first 13 years of her development, Káyọ̀dé had seen a patriarchal husband-wife dynamic as the norm, which I’d only seen (and hardly remembered) for 5 years. The rest of my development was defined by a matriarchal single-mother dynamic as the norm, leading to our two very different tummy pudge perspectives as adults… </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXAue5AyecvAkOkN85u-XwKniyBF-nmyu-TuwP_Gna2eoQlp0vP-tABwKaTxU96RjJSZXGXVyptcqe3ZKyuRrxUt-h3NmGxRrcK4kiGPdRiyuVTWSEKrHyuB0Ms08r9OmGoq2hIRJ-ZBMmjg9blyfCF0lKkTO1iasCWNL4B6BjNeJd6KNz52v-LEl/s356/5%20-%20black%20woman%20secure%20inside%20a.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="258" data-original-width="356" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXAue5AyecvAkOkN85u-XwKniyBF-nmyu-TuwP_Gna2eoQlp0vP-tABwKaTxU96RjJSZXGXVyptcqe3ZKyuRrxUt-h3NmGxRrcK4kiGPdRiyuVTWSEKrHyuB0Ms08r9OmGoq2hIRJ-ZBMmjg9blyfCF0lKkTO1iasCWNL4B6BjNeJd6KNz52v-LEl/w400-h290/5%20-%20black%20woman%20secure%20inside%20a.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Matriarchal
conditioning </i></b><b><i>= confidence
building </i></b></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>So I now understand that appeasing the male gaze is what drove Káyọ̀dé to worry so much about her negligible tummy pudge from her wider exposure of patriarchal norms….That’s why she and so many other ladies at that Brighton beach club as I was shaking it and getting down to the music felt they had to be ‘showy’ through certain hairstyles, colourful makeup, and alamode flamboyant fashions to attract males dressed in comparatively dull colours… Though…when I went clubbing, …my matriarchal conditioning and subsequent self-confidence meant …I primarily dressed not so men thought I was pretty, but because I thought it was fun, even artistic, and certainly comfortable enough to bust my big girl moves! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtoRRDkWcMEa5ObvYgk9AzYNXeLDfRUkrddaBazZSxScbDROndZ7oOv9fyPXnzFuAAttLL3HR9ztDRVt6f6IudD5axj97mEBvKAEm2BxbSncdlRlyRr8YFb-9XXjGhghMXQgLSdwTLIC1t2NM7jYayK5HSOjRXISzOiH8y8sxehFwLycDM-QBMo6uc/s400/6%20-%20Black%20power%20fist%20b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtoRRDkWcMEa5ObvYgk9AzYNXeLDfRUkrddaBazZSxScbDROndZ7oOv9fyPXnzFuAAttLL3HR9ztDRVt6f6IudD5axj97mEBvKAEm2BxbSncdlRlyRr8YFb-9XXjGhghMXQgLSdwTLIC1t2NM7jYayK5HSOjRXISzOiH8y8sxehFwLycDM-QBMo6uc/w400-h400/6%20-%20Black%20power%20fist%20b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Woman Power</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Most important though will always be not how I, woman, interact with men, but how I, woman, interact with myself. …So, my message would be, stop having the wool pulled over your eyes, ladies. Cast off the patriarchal chains, wear what you want, look how you want, and be happy in yourself. Do you hear me big sister?? </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJBXvJ2Rjw9hns8xpg0OiZt5Q7umie6tb24tqMKa6TYmO_MJzUxlYwrV7i2rn1jW8yyRZyxfIomYOL3WNBzVSKZXRakXlKeCWKZ9LA_X6WHvmGy6MbybgTU_g9JfGMfH0JY3ErPXUUOLI3L0tf6Y6hOSiT-ACN7oPKHaNPw2hCQ63bGbNluyHm_X4/s342/6%20-%20Black%20Woman%20thinking%20c.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="323" data-original-width="342" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJBXvJ2Rjw9hns8xpg0OiZt5Q7umie6tb24tqMKa6TYmO_MJzUxlYwrV7i2rn1jW8yyRZyxfIomYOL3WNBzVSKZXRakXlKeCWKZ9LA_X6WHvmGy6MbybgTU_g9JfGMfH0JY3ErPXUUOLI3L0tf6Y6hOSiT-ACN7oPKHaNPw2hCQ63bGbNluyHm_X4/s320/6%20-%20Black%20Woman%20thinking%20c.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>internalised
sexism vs Internalised Feminism</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>...Truth be told, all those years after dancing up a storm on Brighton beach, I still have and still like my tummy pudge. To what extent 8-year-older Káyọ̀dé became comfortable with her own curvaceous glory (negligible as it may be), I’m still not sure. After all, without a shadow of a doubt, it was my earlier introduction to death that helped me recognise what is truly important in life. In any case, I do hope over time she moved away from seeing her value through the male gaze (internalised sexism) and more through the female one (internalised feminism), bringing our mismatched sister outlooks into closer alignment. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And above all else, remember that God made us this way. If we are good enough for God, we are good enough for anyone, with added tummy pudge and all.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If you enjoyed this </span><span style="font-family: arial;">abridged</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">‘women empowerment feminist manifesto’, the full version of ‘Tummy Pudge’ delves into biology, psychology, sociology/anthropology, and linguistics in a fun and relatable way. Coming soon...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Check out a live reading of this abridged version at the <b>iEMPOW3R International Women's Day Spoken Word & Poetry Event 2023</b>:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="402" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/f4MKRK73KcM" width="478" youtube-src-id="f4MKRK73KcM"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-79631671870332942272023-01-04T03:07:00.001-08:002023-01-04T03:07:53.574-08:00Strong Tea<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKOKgConFCqSFIuw5E4JviitVikj7bEkYsx9WfsSR99gdxVU1CFMKtJK-SuP6cJ-2MVb-TC-vagFO8EaFFVM1A6ZcdKEkZxsMjg0wzmkQ2gbwQM_H7Yh4Dc9kFOruleOuJf-PgsHiNYDKPWxvrymVcBfMPF55Dd-drFTfA3-16qOiIVG3oi5u2HrD/s612/1%20-%20tea%20leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKOKgConFCqSFIuw5E4JviitVikj7bEkYsx9WfsSR99gdxVU1CFMKtJK-SuP6cJ-2MVb-TC-vagFO8EaFFVM1A6ZcdKEkZxsMjg0wzmkQ2gbwQM_H7Yh4Dc9kFOruleOuJf-PgsHiNYDKPWxvrymVcBfMPF55Dd-drFTfA3-16qOiIVG3oi5u2HrD/s320/1%20-%20tea%20leaves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />What’s in the dried tea leaves for you? <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">What stories emerge of the future true? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">What tales rise forth from the darkened wet? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">What twists and turns are yet to be met? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruGwAYxW8BbWbK0TuU-gHOFgDJeGi8IYq0ZzBTUHHVCiR6xNzODVLRjXfp8Cy-K6uLF1AUmNOGyq8SRBlXQflIAGoLgnV19Ekg2tQ8g6yDcTP0ojBs1LXS5CLxujEMlxlcxg5ni3UPOH4QVb7b8i4r5yqsYKAJqgMWIO3zdQAvuvnVNGkaj4y_qLi/s640/2%20-%20past%20vs%20future.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruGwAYxW8BbWbK0TuU-gHOFgDJeGi8IYq0ZzBTUHHVCiR6xNzODVLRjXfp8Cy-K6uLF1AUmNOGyq8SRBlXQflIAGoLgnV19Ekg2tQ8g6yDcTP0ojBs1LXS5CLxujEMlxlcxg5ni3UPOH4QVb7b8i4r5yqsYKAJqgMWIO3zdQAvuvnVNGkaj4y_qLi/s320/2%20-%20past%20vs%20future.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But wait truth seeker, not quite so fast </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">To know your future, first know your past </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">There’s geographical, historical mystery </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">That surrounds the roots of this ‘Yorkshire’ tea </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBXpdGzcgUI_6Mh1kBHzOqkDFScldcyadNVT3CPmJZgyuViWYgAhaEwq9YOqyhobAor4TLi5iinzNEoqUAhh53zrlmaao82MoN9oD9qRKXxMnrO3h4huyapO6pIiegbmKgXGWJwadfU_elIbSgGQTs-Xm6MZQXl5wXrI5o79WRCmV8yYAs0YdwZR8/s800/3%20-%20tea%20plantation%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBXpdGzcgUI_6Mh1kBHzOqkDFScldcyadNVT3CPmJZgyuViWYgAhaEwq9YOqyhobAor4TLi5iinzNEoqUAhh53zrlmaao82MoN9oD9qRKXxMnrO3h4huyapO6pIiegbmKgXGWJwadfU_elIbSgGQTs-Xm6MZQXl5wXrI5o79WRCmV8yYAs0YdwZR8/s320/3%20-%20tea%20plantation%204.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Where are hillsides of unfiltered green, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">With comb-lined bushes till horizons seen? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Where are warm rainfalls to soak rich grounds, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Infused with aromatic nutrients found? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTrWQaAGoLngHscjy0sORM20Vq80NpXAaa41QsFTqOWg5PzQbtlBN6n7Wr1SYg3czWG9vEqlTI4MpOesChRKObDmrfzMEWd3G3Fm8KU07zAuBo04l4QKNMEUJnZl0D7azG52Q0JgGkdeX3-BXLADJe4yV20wRIhQNOwdkCEpLJ_VepLJu-MG6L7pQ/s1499/4%20-%20tea%20plantation%20workers%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="1499" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTrWQaAGoLngHscjy0sORM20Vq80NpXAaa41QsFTqOWg5PzQbtlBN6n7Wr1SYg3czWG9vEqlTI4MpOesChRKObDmrfzMEWd3G3Fm8KU07zAuBo04l4QKNMEUJnZl0D7azG52Q0JgGkdeX3-BXLADJe4yV20wRIhQNOwdkCEpLJ_VepLJu-MG6L7pQ/s320/4%20-%20tea%20plantation%20workers%202.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Who are the workers that roam the tracks, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">plucking carefully-eyed foliage for their basketed backs? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">A milky-skinned jolly Yorkshire laddie it be? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">No, sun-kissed Indians and Chinese gather this tea </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJs6nHPP8ORcgjf46Q6XrfML_nl89N_ppJromiVX-md00fQqypD4ZrMQ6Mbs7rZLJC1FzGVt4xJVro1cNgXwNGCgMII1UTpmFHT483HB4kSpfhRMVv6xCvAf7YhnqYgB8A9afFDwq6KNjVeyazkA6BhIdqbbYRQHD_vjtWFwNi__mSO1IqIT0C-Qmd/s570/5%20-%20tea%20ceremony%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="570" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJs6nHPP8ORcgjf46Q6XrfML_nl89N_ppJromiVX-md00fQqypD4ZrMQ6Mbs7rZLJC1FzGVt4xJVro1cNgXwNGCgMII1UTpmFHT483HB4kSpfhRMVv6xCvAf7YhnqYgB8A9afFDwq6KNjVeyazkA6BhIdqbbYRQHD_vjtWFwNi__mSO1IqIT0C-Qmd/s320/5%20-%20tea%20ceremony%203.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Millennia ago, the Asians did start </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Consuming this beverage with ceremonial art </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Only in the 1660s did Charles II then think </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">To popularise this…ahem…‘British’ drink </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDUo1mlbhol6Pxhp6zAe8H03npjIHUqbMvqrKPXOgQh6zMJ6vksQ9lbwVKoV5RGVii3iOy4iIa93itLJ_WIhIqb_Uq_LZBEQThwp2UpWFpKfm2SWoZMRADCPQ7crq_3XjSh17BA-13mfn9m59nFtRQsF1Qi7F5KVv2xANGZ4n_FWOPQBJwSHiFX7p/s531/6%20-%20colonial%20tea.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="359" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDUo1mlbhol6Pxhp6zAe8H03npjIHUqbMvqrKPXOgQh6zMJ6vksQ9lbwVKoV5RGVii3iOy4iIa93itLJ_WIhIqb_Uq_LZBEQThwp2UpWFpKfm2SWoZMRADCPQ7crq_3XjSh17BA-13mfn9m59nFtRQsF1Qi7F5KVv2xANGZ4n_FWOPQBJwSHiFX7p/w216-h320/6%20-%20colonial%20tea.png" width="216" /></a></div>With colonial minds, they had crossed seas and lands </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Draining resources with pillaging hands </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then PG, Tetley & Twinning capitalised the lie </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That theirs w</span><span style="font-family: arial;">as the world’s ‘best’ sugar-lumped chai </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictBezF6EqtBTpnRmLe_mvjXGcoq9WLzlaDLxpkHfVpENuKoqxxARlqWd0F1tZ-nABCQl6UPY5BBOtK3ofIRFar9O3xmJS_q21riFPCqkgq5Wz7bAmbrYarwAC3EkpyUk7HVB5gUCe-bUYB4RFBNzzDrMlyE7EsvBG-c4oM01DEdWwxwye0RmmO5M5/s615/7%20-%20'Yorkshire'%20tea.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="615" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictBezF6EqtBTpnRmLe_mvjXGcoq9WLzlaDLxpkHfVpENuKoqxxARlqWd0F1tZ-nABCQl6UPY5BBOtK3ofIRFar9O3xmJS_q21riFPCqkgq5Wz7bAmbrYarwAC3EkpyUk7HVB5gUCe-bUYB4RFBNzzDrMlyE7EsvBG-c4oM01DEdWwxwye0RmmO5M5/w200-h161/7%20-%20'Yorkshire'%20tea.png" width="200" /></a></div>With fragile china and dainty tea pot </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">They tried to sway their cultural appropriation plot </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">But no, I’m not fooled by how they dare </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Associate eastern herbs with West <i>Yorkshire</i>! </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn2khpvvQYzOuuTwm5jc5nq9pXZN_2Fosl7l9_oWqqT4AW7e-WlQxNEC4hDLRQIRosie4EgY9b7DVm8oxPW8abh-2ICxmhHCLT3NO5zKpctP8zLYQYvfbIlGUou6NDi41d2Kcdoc8QP7YvAMWQYywlbi3ecsGh6xZuq9nn-xCnkRfKttH4F6co7Ih/s895/8%20-%20Strong%20Tea%204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="695" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn2khpvvQYzOuuTwm5jc5nq9pXZN_2Fosl7l9_oWqqT4AW7e-WlQxNEC4hDLRQIRosie4EgY9b7DVm8oxPW8abh-2ICxmhHCLT3NO5zKpctP8zLYQYvfbIlGUou6NDi41d2Kcdoc8QP7YvAMWQYywlbi3ecsGh6xZuq9nn-xCnkRfKttH4F6co7Ih/w248-h320/8%20-%20Strong%20Tea%204.JPG" width="248" /></a></div>As the seasons change, the jig is up </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Brown truth storms in your brittle cup </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">So as the days swirl into what will be </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Know the genuine roots of your future tea.</span></span></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-49311844891897637612022-06-19T10:14:00.001-07:002022-12-01T00:01:34.410-08:00Identity: Global Roots<span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQR2sv6vhKffUiw_xVItRh1atOJhorqTvYmwAx_xCE7FL8H8qAy-5kKhVcgmhJz8PFIcMbyXyzHdxuaXIfOwCb93FqNFCM3rpoI72wzAMRrulZA7LTCi_U6e6oeN1ixYl3Oq8GBZJ4c3rVteXJO17ogtsoO0kXFFwu1ll4r7UPqkfNlbHVJxotNJv/s507/1%20-%20Black%20woman,%20airplane%20window.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="507" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQR2sv6vhKffUiw_xVItRh1atOJhorqTvYmwAx_xCE7FL8H8qAy-5kKhVcgmhJz8PFIcMbyXyzHdxuaXIfOwCb93FqNFCM3rpoI72wzAMRrulZA7LTCi_U6e6oeN1ixYl3Oq8GBZJ4c3rVteXJO17ogtsoO0kXFFwu1ll4r7UPqkfNlbHVJxotNJv/s320/1%20-%20Black%20woman,%20airplane%20window.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>‘You’re one is a million’, a special stat.,<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">though one in 8 billion more pivotal than that.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Each human perspective, all quite unique,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">but more vantage lies from airborne peaks.</span></div></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqX-rUAksJe5rZnxjKMNozIhBrTbdsvk3P0exWqr2r_NvvCpzbUBd4YHvEczXFYk6Z57c1IC9449tbRUIdfMpd4zoxj5wYtsnlS4Zb2L7tyq4gjkLxwL6-vPP8QnQKSbUor_1KCzq9DZBrDwO8iSa22XjCY9H4zr0EsEHqJxwLj_t33s7aG47uktB/s1200/2%20-%20Afro-Eurasia%20map.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqX-rUAksJe5rZnxjKMNozIhBrTbdsvk3P0exWqr2r_NvvCpzbUBd4YHvEczXFYk6Z57c1IC9449tbRUIdfMpd4zoxj5wYtsnlS4Zb2L7tyq4gjkLxwL6-vPP8QnQKSbUor_1KCzq9DZBrDwO8iSa22XjCY9H4zr0EsEHqJxwLj_t33s7aG47uktB/w200-h200/2%20-%20Afro-Eurasia%20map.png" width="200" /></a></div><br />With privileged travel, I was blessed to see</span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;">through childhood’s eye, continents-a-three.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Onto African, European and Asian marks</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">my young life journey did oddly embark</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div> <div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUQ15A0ipdVNkpAahjImzIQDe8kTM7BybNbnjWPBosbBDQfhQ_POqJ7RaYSFs7vwgXdCQSl9FF9KS85X-jVpJAHS9qa7bh8IIGbdmxEx5mWiQxyxMVkS-MfACjzhPGcXHNjBI8DXX8KNrFUZZIW43F3spwNreVRe3Wr_DjjKl0V-vwohsbSt89TEy/s900/3%20-%20Great%20Walls%20of%20Benin.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="900" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUQ15A0ipdVNkpAahjImzIQDe8kTM7BybNbnjWPBosbBDQfhQ_POqJ7RaYSFs7vwgXdCQSl9FF9KS85X-jVpJAHS9qa7bh8IIGbdmxEx5mWiQxyxMVkS-MfACjzhPGcXHNjBI8DXX8KNrFUZZIW43F3spwNreVRe3Wr_DjjKl0V-vwohsbSt89TEy/s320/3%20-%20Great%20Walls%20of%20Benin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yorùbá-Nigerian, surface to core,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />vibrant clothes and spice galore. <br /><br />Zuma Rock with crimson sun-kissed clay <br /><br />governs over Abùjá each passing day. <br /><br />From northern desert to southern green,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX_4z9F0y-N1vlPyl_o4l9b1uInnSpjjzc6Fc7J77LqDH8Tks1UOUMYonlwG-5tnamOlq9bDIZSr_AIcHXO9avrKoNnLZm0NXbOSkYefkgAHz69v8A5XRa8giBPnEoXVTTAjbUEMYHLi9Jn8_VEddWlOwTh3Ep34vdGJj7CiN0rE2Jwlfi6ukRcyi/s569/4%20-%20Naija%20people.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="569" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX_4z9F0y-N1vlPyl_o4l9b1uInnSpjjzc6Fc7J77LqDH8Tks1UOUMYonlwG-5tnamOlq9bDIZSr_AIcHXO9avrKoNnLZm0NXbOSkYefkgAHz69v8A5XRa8giBPnEoXVTTAjbUEMYHLi9Jn8_VEddWlOwTh3Ep34vdGJj7CiN0rE2Jwlfi6ukRcyi/s320/4%20-%20Naija%20people.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Palace of Zaria to Great Walls of Benin, <br /><br />See how Saro-Wiwa’s passion roused and stirred,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Hear sweet Fela Kuti’s music and Chimamanda’s words, <br /><br />With assiduous spirits and bookish minds, <br /><br />Nigerians are truly one of a kind <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9PrHeARLHbfkoB3ILkfSdr_ZvtMAHqNe4lyRP7sjSbRg2vkj8nqLQ1gd5wwbXxsCn7a9o4qkhf_orrOsTIDAbEIgyyS53QEyNnIhv-ZljHKADQlEyDz4qZ8rSbvv1dpsAufFh8vREeml2Lm-dTiXJz4HYkS6sb4569-AAp1wmzkSfw62ZP0a1UNm/s650/5%20-%20bagpipes%20players.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="650" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9PrHeARLHbfkoB3ILkfSdr_ZvtMAHqNe4lyRP7sjSbRg2vkj8nqLQ1gd5wwbXxsCn7a9o4qkhf_orrOsTIDAbEIgyyS53QEyNnIhv-ZljHKADQlEyDz4qZ8rSbvv1dpsAufFh8vREeml2Lm-dTiXJz4HYkS6sb4569-AAp1wmzkSfw62ZP0a1UNm/w200-h196/5%20-%20bagpipes%20players.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The British Isles, my place of birth.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Snowy winters, my first glimpse of Earth. <br /><br />My northern school, ease did inspire <br /><br />with diversity from across past empire <br /><br />But street lessons differed from class</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzBeh7A-WQOrZbaUb8cbibI29HCIxhzBELwqNaZ1BEeWgcquuSvZS-ELfIDxpMqB6CxkVK6BiN5dpb1q_h7BANwrQAXKmAXHHrxdQYBRC-kztOEDF_4-nJFaV1mL9U5mtIXBRfiLQX1htnY2oqzz94apXb6q8y-WRROPfdmMmrbZ50Ic16B8C0kRm/s753/6%20-%20UK%20people.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="753" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzBeh7A-WQOrZbaUb8cbibI29HCIxhzBELwqNaZ1BEeWgcquuSvZS-ELfIDxpMqB6CxkVK6BiN5dpb1q_h7BANwrQAXKmAXHHrxdQYBRC-kztOEDF_4-nJFaV1mL9U5mtIXBRfiLQX1htnY2oqzz94apXb6q8y-WRROPfdmMmrbZ50Ic16B8C0kRm/s320/6%20-%20UK%20people.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>with many a racist laddie and lass. <br /><br />To combat the ignorance I truly abhorred</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Addai-Sebo & Bellos brought Black history to these shores <br /><br />Still, ‘Why come to this forsaken land?’, <br /><br />looped in my mind for hours at hand. <br /><br /> <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAhb0WLZPeDWeG3GR66K46Rm0-v7XGsRJl28wGtfTT4v3wCFcaSkJ9wv10rwGWxbLbWJC8xErwfaXKPpFgfJZSV29Wjt0oKKCzw89jA-tvziRyUkImecYkvS2PnEvB8I4510ozxbZL-buz-scGNHDjNNzkknBw93-9MfrHJuDfEwmxXDljGBfX9Ht/s900/7%20-%20kimono,%20green%20tea.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAhb0WLZPeDWeG3GR66K46Rm0-v7XGsRJl28wGtfTT4v3wCFcaSkJ9wv10rwGWxbLbWJC8xErwfaXKPpFgfJZSV29Wjt0oKKCzw89jA-tvziRyUkImecYkvS2PnEvB8I4510ozxbZL-buz-scGNHDjNNzkknBw93-9MfrHJuDfEwmxXDljGBfX9Ht/s320/7%20-%20kimono,%20green%20tea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Japan, land where I regained the sun. <br /><br />With chopsticks and manga, I did have fun. <br /><br />Kimonos and green tea filled the air, <br /><br />earthquakes and Godzilla aroused slight fear <br /><br />I marvelled at beautiful narrow eyes</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDWNmtyy09TOE_j0X4YkLWQwVDudTjXBKLXxASVEyyizRDnvSMJih90u3w9ROu2BRMtUisLzu22rLXRmq5mlAZ9il9YIeajmiteOawg6BSNVyV24sHThvYbYPFiin-9opSvw4mszOhKbwJCKw1_uCyMC81elUV8-07_8Bb0pYBo7VZIzzq54gsiuH/s992/8%20-%20Japan%20people.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="992" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDWNmtyy09TOE_j0X4YkLWQwVDudTjXBKLXxASVEyyizRDnvSMJih90u3w9ROu2BRMtUisLzu22rLXRmq5mlAZ9il9YIeajmiteOawg6BSNVyV24sHThvYbYPFiin-9opSvw4mszOhKbwJCKw1_uCyMC81elUV8-07_8Bb0pYBo7VZIzzq54gsiuH/s320/8%20-%20Japan%20people.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>My wide ovals’ equal praise, quite a surprise! <br /><br />deftly shy, yet defiantly daring <br /><br />mixed with Kuroyanagi and Takato’s caring <br /><br /> In this friendly eastern community <br /><br />Again, I embraced humanity. <br /><br /> <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXclmLLm3genKdpyIJ843BTC0RE6H8UA7Z9coJsfu7NDumjJ9Kgc991KOr48ncwwvuwAESX4-QUmnwJiRxVn0oC81CKIpMu3T6TKmrzkc2j-4u8F5gPSu0JiG8P3YzKDHQ8wppmE88mfE9av5bSd8UsdSWMT5QwGR0ZuKs7Hei_srkXjrHtXZyVlNo/s3264/9%20-%20world%20steppingstones.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXclmLLm3genKdpyIJ843BTC0RE6H8UA7Z9coJsfu7NDumjJ9Kgc991KOr48ncwwvuwAESX4-QUmnwJiRxVn0oC81CKIpMu3T6TKmrzkc2j-4u8F5gPSu0JiG8P3YzKDHQ8wppmE88mfE9av5bSd8UsdSWMT5QwGR0ZuKs7Hei_srkXjrHtXZyVlNo/w150-h200/9%20-%20world%20steppingstones.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Here I stand in the faithful present <br /><br />Surveying my international development <br /><br />With learnings both glowing and dull in tone <br /><br />I advanced along these world steppingstones</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxs-NyL01tlk-jdUJ4Hfin5XV4LU1bUMhET07x8gRhTw4NcRU05OruAUITtOFEm72tMJKA4yM36mmeH0Zcv3v3vBLsqj1GoKxsBOY-sFbwKiByRBvcuQbBpqTSy-M79rq_L4Zp4uRroPN9GXqCQXDKvBeWliSJuqrrIptPsgE4TWTLv4w8MCDbOHfw/s1040/10%20-%20global%20family.webp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1040" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxs-NyL01tlk-jdUJ4Hfin5XV4LU1bUMhET07x8gRhTw4NcRU05OruAUITtOFEm72tMJKA4yM36mmeH0Zcv3v3vBLsqj1GoKxsBOY-sFbwKiByRBvcuQbBpqTSy-M79rq_L4Zp4uRroPN9GXqCQXDKvBeWliSJuqrrIptPsgE4TWTLv4w8MCDbOHfw/w200-h200/10%20-%20global%20family.webp" width="200" /></a></div>Through many twists and varied turns</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Body, mind and soul were both nourished and burned <br /><br />Still, with all weighed up, it's clear to see <br /><br />abiding love bonds our global family.</span></span><br /></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-25112879620365574002022-05-02T22:46:00.002-07:002022-05-02T23:42:21.073-07:00The Present Future<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkwpQlADq6CD3n9t5YFDQX78eovfNGn15EFFQ2kk8bCv2b6aKjGPri6DroGCtwImVfh-es87X7bPpmHfHInAodMhSShDsl1KtOl9qUPR2kwbhEleuG6GNAmSAt3uE-k-yIiCRvMegaQBhOQsjOsIgXpBnt8qyF4uUZjHtIrXyVDxMNzfnhvGFydzP/s438/1%20-%20Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="404" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkwpQlADq6CD3n9t5YFDQX78eovfNGn15EFFQ2kk8bCv2b6aKjGPri6DroGCtwImVfh-es87X7bPpmHfHInAodMhSShDsl1KtOl9qUPR2kwbhEleuG6GNAmSAt3uE-k-yIiCRvMegaQBhOQsjOsIgXpBnt8qyF4uUZjHtIrXyVDxMNzfnhvGFydzP/s320/1%20-%20Picture1.jpg" width="295" /></a></div> <p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Today I am.</span></i></b></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today I am doing lots of self-reflection: an activity I feel grateful to have the time and space to do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m residing in a home paid for (by the skin of my teeth) with the humble salary from the part-time job I managed to hold down through the pandemic.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsSRyqV_thbnsEt0YbHanQYsVbEvd3d8_NbPEHTowCxticTqOl9mC2GX0ctXi8PoPTxBV3mmwfH17aOQ5QHDohZ1sFaxzSR2oi7IgXws3Rq8r11Kt4fYBAw2CbZeEZbcRynLCWUCRyX6c61gjGgigycFxvlxRJ8M0jn-rut_M3wy2TBH-q47LeDBT/s1200/2%20-%20tables%20and%20chair%20at%20home.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsSRyqV_thbnsEt0YbHanQYsVbEvd3d8_NbPEHTowCxticTqOl9mC2GX0ctXi8PoPTxBV3mmwfH17aOQ5QHDohZ1sFaxzSR2oi7IgXws3Rq8r11Kt4fYBAw2CbZeEZbcRynLCWUCRyX6c61gjGgigycFxvlxRJ8M0jn-rut_M3wy2TBH-q47LeDBT/w400-h300/2%20-%20tables%20and%20chair%20at%20home.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m sitting at the table and chair already in this furnished flat that I could instantly settle into and start living, versus traipsing around Ikea trying to select bits and bobs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S3y4AJ8VlOHX9tLrM_JsjuCoo9R3NRHpXDP8hc-rM1ysqup_3iXctwVHJ1ziOGJ4ziuFi-M5Ngae827Hv7e4r73J1NMtmuExYksXjN8CLSZvHDoC7ceFpGnGWc7MPAZr9J8xR_HI4AUQzZTQlKhBt0h8dV97S_b6QDYpyahfRf7JQW5enOerZsZM/s492/3%20-%20Yoruba%20Somali%20Malaysia.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="420" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8S3y4AJ8VlOHX9tLrM_JsjuCoo9R3NRHpXDP8hc-rM1ysqup_3iXctwVHJ1ziOGJ4ziuFi-M5Ngae827Hv7e4r73J1NMtmuExYksXjN8CLSZvHDoC7ceFpGnGWc7MPAZr9J8xR_HI4AUQzZTQlKhBt0h8dV97S_b6QDYpyahfRf7JQW5enOerZsZM/w341-h400/3%20-%20Yoruba%20Somali%20Malaysia.JPG" width="341" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m wearing a purple ‘dirac’ airy dress from my Somali friend further wrapped in a red ‘kain sarung’ from my Malaysian friend for more warmth, feeling lucky as a Yorùbá-Nigerian clothed in such international community.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m working on a computer honing typing skills developed through poetry collections, uni essays, work assignments, even creating teaching materials and assessments for my students, and more.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0j3bu8g3gBtp6G95JxrF1lQdSr-B4B_3hgijNF-BVnxYbsSLgfEz8wIYACYNW21hcpF3hvsmjkUj6ZmfzoyN6eJaSYRhTupK3KwV3qEbOkPMQ60F72qhSB07ySCabWLr6Ew533OiqBqBTJ3wLZI-wLNEhQXtIGnnku1gtMzHrDB42h80cksAiorKz/s579/4%20-%20Roald%20Dahl,%20Maya%20Angelou.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="579" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0j3bu8g3gBtp6G95JxrF1lQdSr-B4B_3hgijNF-BVnxYbsSLgfEz8wIYACYNW21hcpF3hvsmjkUj6ZmfzoyN6eJaSYRhTupK3KwV3qEbOkPMQ60F72qhSB07ySCabWLr6Ew533OiqBqBTJ3wLZI-wLNEhQXtIGnnku1gtMzHrDB42h80cksAiorKz/w640-h373/4%20-%20Roald%20Dahl,%20Maya%20Angelou.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m drafting my narrative writing ranging from poetry inspired by Roald Dahl nonsense rhymes to memoir pieces inspired by Maya Angelou’s life of global creativity, activism and love.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc_ZXv1ARQzazJp2BUlXoIZFnWUidLxgDWIB2x3f9htrz2sYtPvOGW_mymGQ8SIiCiFk421a19nE4bED5vsTIXPzYGmqlj2FdBauPfM8xgVQihAlol_mmfKyW1iu2xSiWlyEnxyq67uJ06p6XN0BFnU7wgGcOcm5vTMGFNud_y1OTkaspYM1Yi6Tj/s1568/5%20-%20cuteness%20overload.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="1568" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc_ZXv1ARQzazJp2BUlXoIZFnWUidLxgDWIB2x3f9htrz2sYtPvOGW_mymGQ8SIiCiFk421a19nE4bED5vsTIXPzYGmqlj2FdBauPfM8xgVQihAlol_mmfKyW1iu2xSiWlyEnxyq67uJ06p6XN0BFnU7wgGcOcm5vTMGFNud_y1OTkaspYM1Yi6Tj/w640-h149/5%20-%20cuteness%20overload.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m interacting with online communities enticing me with dramatic theatre, thoughtful debate, inspirational fellow creatives, intelligent discourse, impromptu dance parties and virtual Christenings of newborns oceans away overloaded with cuteness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m seeing all this through healthy eyes, hearing with healthy ears, processing through a healthy brain, supported by a healthy body, and today I know I am blessed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tomorrow I can be.</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tomorrow I can be the embodiment of hopes and dreams from past todays as well as this today now.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can be face-full rather than faceless, unmask and let the covid-safe world see happy smiles and plump cheeks, communicating beyond a muffed voice behind surgical fabric as the pandemic gradually subsides.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1juSknZScuNpBEADDxTjD_PCkIn6Di0ozDjRmNHc4rnxPuzs8u7NshVHQejcUXsdJHPEB7eSnQnqJ6Yc06sJn9Nd7YdpjZYerQYN3Un16h42o5Q8JsKqeTo8sjpfaghSdCdaWxbEI1uApg04ZTdSC9IB561Bbyr7jMjiiuhKNnX2dYicGLByye2F/s1470/6%20-%20Yoruba%20home%20decor.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1470" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1juSknZScuNpBEADDxTjD_PCkIn6Di0ozDjRmNHc4rnxPuzs8u7NshVHQejcUXsdJHPEB7eSnQnqJ6Yc06sJn9Nd7YdpjZYerQYN3Un16h42o5Q8JsKqeTo8sjpfaghSdCdaWxbEI1uApg04ZTdSC9IB561Bbyr7jMjiiuhKNnX2dYicGLByye2F/w640-h296/6%20-%20Yoruba%20home%20decor.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can be a homeowner, have a foray of differently themed rooms, decorated with keepsakes from trips across the world spanning 5 continents, but ultimately centred on Yorùbá vibes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can be close to more family in London, visiting cousins, attending weddings, seeing nieces and nephews grow as childhood spirals into newfound tallness accompanying both academic and emotional intelligence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pysUyngSQKY18ArU0vZfDH3c1Rz58zXTa0APYmM8YNuqWueA2ZSBi9HczsfyiTdSp1CAqk63RoV06InKBqNBOSlWDMUE0Zqsa1_12zzFIs0WbmlLjm8W07o6lrRFrW0BFDu5nnRM7QoQLjPXCVdEf5XkOvt32MRWJU-npth9SyFgXj93zxXpHKrm/s1810/7%20-%20welcome%20abroad.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="1810" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pysUyngSQKY18ArU0vZfDH3c1Rz58zXTa0APYmM8YNuqWueA2ZSBi9HczsfyiTdSp1CAqk63RoV06InKBqNBOSlWDMUE0Zqsa1_12zzFIs0WbmlLjm8W07o6lrRFrW0BFDu5nnRM7QoQLjPXCVdEf5XkOvt32MRWJU-npth9SyFgXj93zxXpHKrm/w640-h122/7%20-%20welcome%20abroad.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I can visit more friends near in other cities and far in other countries (preferably sunnier) after the lockdown lifts properly, definitively, finally.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBeyBYgtOhY325gXobxo2bftDy82uUwbHKyUh7sXBGlTU0W1BG4MbsMDIzu9zo3XshC96crI6qphple3GE3ErOYdA67roj-Fivf3qPU2Lp49FIqOSfx6cfLNGGDkiMA93U6RRvSEbIqC04xwWgI1AlDX-rz0m3yGGozmUfa49KW5Lh6tQ6HeXMrcS/s1724/8%20-%20BLM,%20George%20Floyd,%20Dorothy%20Cherry%20Groce.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="1724" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBeyBYgtOhY325gXobxo2bftDy82uUwbHKyUh7sXBGlTU0W1BG4MbsMDIzu9zo3XshC96crI6qphple3GE3ErOYdA67roj-Fivf3qPU2Lp49FIqOSfx6cfLNGGDkiMA93U6RRvSEbIqC04xwWgI1AlDX-rz0m3yGGozmUfa49KW5Lh6tQ6HeXMrcS/w640-h182/8%20-%20BLM,%20George%20Floyd,%20Dorothy%20Cherry%20Groce.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can march for a new day of justice, pounding the road, threading the streets, joining global voices chanting in unison ‘Black Lives Matter’, honouring loving fathers like George Floyd, Sheku Bayoh and Mark Duggan as well as devoted mothers like Dorothy "Cherry" Groce and Cynthia Jarrett, taken away by law un-enforcement.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I can create training spaces where others can hone their language and communication skills, facilitating more life opportunities, driving job prospects higher, bringing aspirations ever closer.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RATwOcSyeGQK5jVXBdETxnN1nsBRBqKXVnto2QtvsJNKZ2XYW3fVSplOIXQGjaAAPXCUjVIC8tjgBH3sWPI7AzCKiGgVlG1JY4-BsoYkpDQswwh9Nc9loympQ5R1UzFg0n9wRK5IhAhgHKWiyoIpWGMOZV0_RW4K9h40eMSg9RDeOqCefZdSg2UM/s1592/9%20-%20page%20turner%20a%20la%20JK%20Rowling.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="1592" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RATwOcSyeGQK5jVXBdETxnN1nsBRBqKXVnto2QtvsJNKZ2XYW3fVSplOIXQGjaAAPXCUjVIC8tjgBH3sWPI7AzCKiGgVlG1JY4-BsoYkpDQswwh9Nc9loympQ5R1UzFg0n9wRK5IhAhgHKWiyoIpWGMOZV0_RW4K9h40eMSg9RDeOqCefZdSg2UM/w640-h282/9%20-%20page%20turner%20a%20la%20JK%20Rowling.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can discuss the premise of an enthralling page-turner with interested readers, engaged editors and eager publishers whilst drafting the bones of its sequel a la J.K. Rowling, and tomorrow I’ll see ever new horizons.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yes. <i><b>Today I am</b></i>, <i><b>tomorrow I can be</b></i>…and the <i><b>present future</b></i> will always be full of promise.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-9154616968569113042022-04-06T08:47:00.001-07:002022-04-06T08:48:57.606-07:00Purple Girl<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6xihMg6MUhCafBPELvgPSn3dlmA0U-c4GH3jjgbTaI-1uZ6s3wZ-bg-v3b-2PpryVmQfJ3mWsLno6eFEDlqBkERxg4cyvZtgW3IWgldnR8NBhT-Hd-iqxHPzpJPXtMoKfc--NpHHVkliDbQE6vKoznyZ7jz6w6Ftsobd5XXWOQJaKNg4ZqC2hZI5/s736/1%20-%20purple%20girl%201.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="736" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6xihMg6MUhCafBPELvgPSn3dlmA0U-c4GH3jjgbTaI-1uZ6s3wZ-bg-v3b-2PpryVmQfJ3mWsLno6eFEDlqBkERxg4cyvZtgW3IWgldnR8NBhT-Hd-iqxHPzpJPXtMoKfc--NpHHVkliDbQE6vKoznyZ7jz6w6Ftsobd5XXWOQJaKNg4ZqC2hZI5/w400-h394/1%20-%20purple%20girl%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><b>purple girl in a purple world</b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You know, I’d like to understand what’s led me to liking the colour purple so much.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My preferred colourful Nigerian palette has shifted with each life stage. During my cold northern UK early school days, generic black and white appealed as they were easy to match clothing-wise, particularly with the principle blue colour of casual jeans and their associated relaxed vibe. Truth be told, I always enjoyed bright colours and would dress as such with many patterned jumpers displaying a full rainbow spectrum. This all-season summery preference blended into the background until I went to university, however.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcQ3OsiHg4ilKzJ6QQeu0xhj1oMRZfq6nxR07aCgGzN2pNVTvULrrfAnJBGxJ0vixoCGCBa6JAgT4srOiBeq4RJiS2vRhh1FCBxzdfswp2dgCZvPRY8oFXp-iUKMdj9Ss0_OYcfuI8lkH7EYV2JqBQnRnVxndwJaQlqUzaP4gewTXZSns3RNhJUVf/s1671/2%20-%20teen%20colours.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1671" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcQ3OsiHg4ilKzJ6QQeu0xhj1oMRZfq6nxR07aCgGzN2pNVTvULrrfAnJBGxJ0vixoCGCBa6JAgT4srOiBeq4RJiS2vRhh1FCBxzdfswp2dgCZvPRY8oFXp-iUKMdj9Ss0_OYcfuI8lkH7EYV2JqBQnRnVxndwJaQlqUzaP4gewTXZSns3RNhJUVf/w640-h216/2%20-%20teen%20colours.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">cool blue jeans and bright colours</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">During a freshers week meeting with a group of 60+ students mainly from London (land of the ‘cool’), I saw near everyone was wearing darker colours: darker jeans, darker tops & jumpers, darker jackets & scarves, darker everything! ‘Ah, I could die (or perhaps ‘dye’) right here…’ I thought. With that, night seemed to fall on my subconsciously sunny preferences as I consciously became aware they made me stick out in this new social setting.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8HbV6pJFvwTjMrhTSrt5V9J11LkP-49qx_o1tO2ZJ8zw94IwtIwW508n3LvRM5kIlv-mZqXwPorD6s2tLVz8S0jnFoZyYMjdBtaKzoWOxV_LAjZi41IQTT1SMMapvTFBKHyVLLZF43zC_M6E8uy62CFGunTWOJc6kcChZ_2b0jprvY5gzQG-48ME/s850/3%20-%20uni%20students%20in%20darker%20colours%201.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="850" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8HbV6pJFvwTjMrhTSrt5V9J11LkP-49qx_o1tO2ZJ8zw94IwtIwW508n3LvRM5kIlv-mZqXwPorD6s2tLVz8S0jnFoZyYMjdBtaKzoWOxV_LAjZi41IQTT1SMMapvTFBKHyVLLZF43zC_M6E8uy62CFGunTWOJc6kcChZ_2b0jprvY5gzQG-48ME/w400-h246/3%20-%20uni%20students%20in%20darker%20colours%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">London (land of
the ‘cool’) darker shades<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Upon graduation, I wore my ceremonial cap and gown…and the traditional scholarly yet obscure black seemed to rub off on me. I went through a phase blending with my own shadow, ‘mainly in colder weather as dark colours help with heat absorption,’ I told myself. I recounted the same thing to my host parents from my hot southern Japan latter school days when, during a visit in my early 20s, they bought me a bright orange scarf. They insisted, ‘a young lady shouldn’t be wearing such dark colours all the time!’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzeyAHKd5OKjIehpm0tJd3xqoumCdr8pl-M72FxpEyb6w5BxDFx7mqzq9JSzKb-s5C4N8LnEPfBKnsOQKnZFY0SUoc-LNCyckdOKNCzXQsmwEtN-M6l7YFWz8Aex4gzl1zFrSX-La41WNTTU4Sp52YltanVcXwGpxi7VqkNTq2vmpLdeTHH5anCwS/s1067/4%20-%20dark%20graduation%20colours,%20orange%20scarf.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1067" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzeyAHKd5OKjIehpm0tJd3xqoumCdr8pl-M72FxpEyb6w5BxDFx7mqzq9JSzKb-s5C4N8LnEPfBKnsOQKnZFY0SUoc-LNCyckdOKNCzXQsmwEtN-M6l7YFWz8Aex4gzl1zFrSX-La41WNTTU4Sp52YltanVcXwGpxi7VqkNTq2vmpLdeTHH5anCwS/w400-h271/4%20-%20dark%20graduation%20colours,%20orange%20scarf.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">‘a young lady shouldn’t be wearing such dark colours all the time!’</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, them throwing shade on my shaded tones seemed to have kicked me up the bum. In the ensuing years, my mid-late 20s wardrobe was always filled with colourful options. There were scarlet rose hats, marmalade earrings, lemon tops, lime belts, ocean spray trousers and chestnut shoes. But I and others soon started noticing there were often also lavender caps, beetroot shawls, aubergine blouses, violet dresses, fuchsia coats, plum denims and lilac sandals. Yes, I’d developed a passion for the passion fruit hue.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0eYlJSE2vFbkQ_KvLWZs1hAV0gJohJKHBfsTXNTeSLpESjYO-AYt8Ol1h8wJee-udYpkNkcnj-aZXoqfv338Du3_FC9oQVpda43OxESpLAr984oAg096fN0oWwMxy2N8I4xd_CpcBzu5U36FfyscDlNUjek3BqOVr467t9M9DbIZzFRfgWeJT-uV/s1378/5%20-%20purple.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="1378" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0eYlJSE2vFbkQ_KvLWZs1hAV0gJohJKHBfsTXNTeSLpESjYO-AYt8Ol1h8wJee-udYpkNkcnj-aZXoqfv338Du3_FC9oQVpda43OxESpLAr984oAg096fN0oWwMxy2N8I4xd_CpcBzu5U36FfyscDlNUjek3BqOVr467t9M9DbIZzFRfgWeJT-uV/w640-h280/5%20-%20purple.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">a passion for
the passion fruit hue<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So why was this the particularly purple case? On reflection, was it because back in the day, one uni flatmate said it was her favourite colour…then one uni workmate wore it always to the point I started calling her my ‘purple girl’? She’d looked perplex when my Cheshire Cat grinning face addressed her as such. Then the next day she said she’d caught sight of her laundry basket and the entire thing was indeed a pretty pile of pleasant purples.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-butm6BzYdUacLRLCLfKKYVdlk7rxB6i3hUgbRYfqfN7GdjlxOGFrcfSp3DQMuHQEUafIhH8KDZLKoWfRSJoTevSASUpOCo-0_J8n9SRYo7kacCCkznPi7YMKL9P2DcJ4cEUVpbn3x0QwINQmMjRsn5z1AyARJgU-nBjDFbgK-JRoHF247MDh6ED_/s1678/6%20-%20Cheshire%20Cat,%20pleasant%20purples.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="1678" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-butm6BzYdUacLRLCLfKKYVdlk7rxB6i3hUgbRYfqfN7GdjlxOGFrcfSp3DQMuHQEUafIhH8KDZLKoWfRSJoTevSASUpOCo-0_J8n9SRYo7kacCCkznPi7YMKL9P2DcJ4cEUVpbn3x0QwINQmMjRsn5z1AyARJgU-nBjDFbgK-JRoHF247MDh6ED_/w640-h230/6%20-%20Cheshire%20Cat,%20pleasant%20purples.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">Cheshire Cat
grinning at the pleasant purples<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Had an incognito indigo seed been planted in my psyche since then? Perhaps. But ultimately, I think it’s just a colour that straddles nicely between hot red and cold blue to make the perfect compromise of the two palettes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mq5qRMWS0p6ug6zAYZKrDM9wj3lC9dLJ4-zw4efnsc_5ZKS92zLUfRUc2CaKsrrVTYFafdhy4B60l1aHVTho0-fxcFFkFnz8vnXEvgdtk7BvLjZBSTyWBsX_Mm-lSFENgg--xNTlA1ur2Gj7hyI-WMqhG5iaFsysojWBxGLeWJTu4pGElQg9GXhV/s1920/7%20-%20cold%20blue%20and%20hot%20red%20blend%203.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1920" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mq5qRMWS0p6ug6zAYZKrDM9wj3lC9dLJ4-zw4efnsc_5ZKS92zLUfRUc2CaKsrrVTYFafdhy4B60l1aHVTho0-fxcFFkFnz8vnXEvgdtk7BvLjZBSTyWBsX_Mm-lSFENgg--xNTlA1ur2Gj7hyI-WMqhG5iaFsysojWBxGLeWJTu4pGElQg9GXhV/w640-h234/7%20-%20cold%20blue%20and%20hot%20red%20blend%203.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">hot red and
cold blue = perfect purple<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now all my friends know I’m the ‘Purple Girl’ and the rainbow’s last arc is often their first thought when selecting travel souvenirs for me from their own colourful life journeys.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JgjEVp7bh0UQM1KLmWwUDHW7iPeCN6uuUr8K7PkSKyd2uIfG6KzUm4bqxZOp-i6rxYYLr1R5C3zzvH8BEMhBmKnq53ein_fz1LjXniM7wOtVZfhfRflSCCgn9P201Rj_kvT3hOFrybdR_KVf8gGzM2kjD4cb-UIVZY34A5qo35YH5wtEOjvsK6xV/s1792/8%20-%20rainbow's%20last%20arc,%20life%20journeys.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="1792" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JgjEVp7bh0UQM1KLmWwUDHW7iPeCN6uuUr8K7PkSKyd2uIfG6KzUm4bqxZOp-i6rxYYLr1R5C3zzvH8BEMhBmKnq53ein_fz1LjXniM7wOtVZfhfRflSCCgn9P201Rj_kvT3hOFrybdR_KVf8gGzM2kjD4cb-UIVZY34A5qo35YH5wtEOjvsK6xV/w640-h226/8%20-%20rainbow's%20last%20arc,%20life%20journeys.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-20030857630163962962022-02-27T04:31:00.002-08:002022-02-27T12:49:52.959-08:00Interjection<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwxdmJWtRvFY0LpJpQIUN2aSYS3MxdkugETR_4sz8X8p0QLiePRafmIuG1uGioTg-8uO7Lp98POgZkfw9t6YrO_AGCLfGplJmwLxlL2SWbL0QfAL3-F34cH2MkajOR5ueNAQEfzewOYrw-nXRZwY4cmHDMK6yZKhN-K-Ep0_tMvIYMS0NGO_DMxGBm=s540" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwxdmJWtRvFY0LpJpQIUN2aSYS3MxdkugETR_4sz8X8p0QLiePRafmIuG1uGioTg-8uO7Lp98POgZkfw9t6YrO_AGCLfGplJmwLxlL2SWbL0QfAL3-F34cH2MkajOR5ueNAQEfzewOYrw-nXRZwY4cmHDMK6yZKhN-K-Ep0_tMvIYMS0NGO_DMxGBm=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;">Aunty and nephew playing up a storm!</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The s</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ky interjected with strong sun beams that summer morning, surely heralding the joyous day to come.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'd just returned to the UK after an extended work assignment abroad and could finally catch up with family. This meant visiting my big cousins in northwest London and finally getting to meet my 2-year-old nephew for the first time. I'd already seen photos of the little guy growing from babbling baby to toothy-grinned toddler. Now I was excited to see if the personality coming through in his 2D renderings were also true of his 3D self. Upon arriving at their home, the little guy did indeed meet all expectations being mega cute, chatting loads already, and emitting lots of happy vibes. His home was a sea of toys and we soon selected one and made the living room floor our land of playtime. His mum was glad for our interaction as it gave her time to focus on a pending work project. Always a bit of a chancer, she then asked if I'd take our playtime outside for fresh air at the local park.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mouth interjected, ‘NO!!’, accompanied by my wide eyes and furrowed brow.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Surprised at my sudden total apprehension, his mum asked why? I fired back,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'He might fall down!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Or a car might hit him!!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Or someone might grab him!!!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'No, I don’t want to take him outside!!!!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In that moment, I was having the aunty version of what mothers experience immediately after childbirth. Going into overprotection overdrive from the big, bad world for their new little one that’s just arrived. Except whilst his mum had had 2 years for that over-apprehension to somewhat dissipate, mine had just kicked in big time. Seeing my clear discomfort from taking him out of the safety of her 4 walls, his mum relented. But also seeing her clear tiredness, I reversed my assertion, decided to be brave and venture out with the little guy. He was entrusted to my care, so for now, he would be my young one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihLbpT95hKvLv2fyL23iWs6RxUrOndwDvvtQNO6yJ2x2xGSyV7D1KRvy6bSjhfZ7OE_dIBCQzzOHgGYCStcoVMzYutiYgZU97hbHszRgfNjnvgbSyw4DchUU3DjKGCOYhxxMFYSOV8Sk3A9Yq-MT82P7Ka8MRFBg-A53628-h5-8rB4i6oe8z8e6H9=s667" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="548" data-original-width="667" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihLbpT95hKvLv2fyL23iWs6RxUrOndwDvvtQNO6yJ2x2xGSyV7D1KRvy6bSjhfZ7OE_dIBCQzzOHgGYCStcoVMzYutiYgZU97hbHszRgfNjnvgbSyw4DchUU3DjKGCOYhxxMFYSOV8Sk3A9Yq-MT82P7Ka8MRFBg-A53628-h5-8rB4i6oe8z8e6H9=w400-h329" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Aunty and nephew on way to park</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Stepping out of the door, my attention distribution inhabited an interesting dichotomy. In my eye periphery, all guns were blazing in case anyone tried to mess with us. Though in my eye focus, all cylinders were firing with love bugs towards my nephew: bombarding him with speech describing our surrounding residential world to activate his mind and showering him with praise when he named his colours and shapes right to activate his heart.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfCrCxApaHbtVUw9nGRi8AeXsHeNKWdrYOQim91tLmofJmFGNVCeE5XxG7fAP6nGNTQhdkw70xFQXIfNKNxE9NgkDFRVXfq7tx7Bi0B5AG2EyMGkzZd5jjOkXE1j7YLorbyL2L2-BXeRmVOc8Ugj_Y-xQATkzOjIOv3WLGU7BbK80e9U_NSHQ1_oeS=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfCrCxApaHbtVUw9nGRi8AeXsHeNKWdrYOQim91tLmofJmFGNVCeE5XxG7fAP6nGNTQhdkw70xFQXIfNKNxE9NgkDFRVXfq7tx7Bi0B5AG2EyMGkzZd5jjOkXE1j7YLorbyL2L2-BXeRmVOc8Ugj_Y-xQATkzOjIOv3WLGU7BbK80e9U_NSHQ1_oeS=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">London park playground</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After 5 minutes, we reached the local park, a nice patch of extensive greenery with lots of colourful playground apparatus near the entrance gate. My young one knew exactly what to do in this new land of playtime and I soon had him swishing on the swings, bouncing on the seesaw, and swirling on the roundabout. One of my spins was a bit too strong though and he almost lost his balance causing him the same apprehensive look I'd had back at the house. Before he could break into a full-on cry, we left the swirly roundabout and headed for the stoic bench. There we sat so my young one could get his bearings, holding him close in a squeezy hug, telling him how brave he was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs0cMYIAJsJQ23XTEu8wNhEhhcnzDFiwv_ljq1k7CzK-2Cz5DSMTMWRKEoOv7_T0w6vlOnaIzyH48-TKXK8DjQ4pSWm-Q1jsUSzFtSjDZcm-P0aHd1S51vOuEuxQuYz81RHu-IOwoqmS-2vwbmbWWPCXEUZ10vjKyfyMHYvzEKk9g6tvyCfubEp1mW=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs0cMYIAJsJQ23XTEu8wNhEhhcnzDFiwv_ljq1k7CzK-2Cz5DSMTMWRKEoOv7_T0w6vlOnaIzyH48-TKXK8DjQ4pSWm-Q1jsUSzFtSjDZcm-P0aHd1S51vOuEuxQuYz81RHu-IOwoqmS-2vwbmbWWPCXEUZ10vjKyfyMHYvzEKk9g6tvyCfubEp1mW=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lime-green leaves serenely swaying</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A gentle breeze interjected, rustling sunlit lime-green leaves in its wake.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We sat a while absorbing the parkland serenity when another family arrived through our same entrance gate. It was a father with his own young ones in tow: a daughter circa 9 and son circa 7 years old, all with Scandinavian vibes being very blond-haired and blue-eyed. This parent clearly had the same idea as my cousin of giving the kids a chance to stretch their legs playing around outside. So they began doing just that on the flat turf in the playground corner. By this time, nephew wanted to try the climbing frame and I stood by him diligently making sure he didn’t slip despite the rubber surface below ready to insulate any fall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7yWmb21XA1ONcDyZL3UMeoxzkJviH5VBURnk02xwJ4YNEsVU2qMvlqrU_NFPQ0FZVxEpYYpIJFh-hBxkeE6aAU4NzyDVg0J3Gya55pPPECER6MTG25NQS_d5oYafqbKLjO_zbxeMhaTOK-T8O48A-kBN9WIQcwLv5rgcP7dw5FfXX6TXSuf2efuhA=s620" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="620" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7yWmb21XA1ONcDyZL3UMeoxzkJviH5VBURnk02xwJ4YNEsVU2qMvlqrU_NFPQ0FZVxEpYYpIJFh-hBxkeE6aAU4NzyDVg0J3Gya55pPPECER6MTG25NQS_d5oYafqbKLjO_zbxeMhaTOK-T8O48A-kBN9WIQcwLv5rgcP7dw5FfXX6TXSuf2efuhA=w640-h341" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Blond-haired, blue-eyed father, daughter and son</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As always, it was nice seeing other people at parks, with each group’s fun times amplifying everyone else’s joy. When certain jubilant vibes expanded beyond each familial bubble, some park goers usually comment on other groups enjoyment as they play around.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Hey, good tackle!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Hey, nice kick!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Hey, you did it!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And this distant, friendly banter might well also be needed for the new additions in the playground corner as they started a fervent game of rounders. The smiling father started giving a full-on commentary of the proceedings as the son threw ball here, the daughter batted ball there, the son bombed it after the ball, the daughter bombed it to the next base, the son got the ball, the daughter was too fast and had already made it safe to home base, yay! Though this particular cheerful rounders commentary and laughter kept throwing me for a loop. Why? Because this Scandinavian-esque family in this northwest London park were speaking in fluent Japanese.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgP1C1_-eS1Af1z_Rgnf72598cewNbuezlmtcSY2c95wi0CLkQw8WAdrBWVPon0HMIKx-nKLlANmMz5QXyMciRviRQb-zu_9YKxqQFSEvi4Ohb1nxPt964istuqKMdaC_5TDF_ulqjVQO591WvAw_XeFRt64PvJv0tcGZHKsDrr8i8ZhGWF4EmFmOcp=s1560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1560" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgP1C1_-eS1Af1z_Rgnf72598cewNbuezlmtcSY2c95wi0CLkQw8WAdrBWVPon0HMIKx-nKLlANmMz5QXyMciRviRQb-zu_9YKxqQFSEvi4Ohb1nxPt964istuqKMdaC_5TDF_ulqjVQO591WvAw_XeFRt64PvJv0tcGZHKsDrr8i8ZhGWF4EmFmOcp=w640-h290" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Surprise hearing Japanese speakers</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My brain interjected, ‘huh?’</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, an East Asian family speaking fluent Japanese in a London park, okay. A blond-haired, blue-eyed family speaking fluent Japanese in a Tokyo park, fine! But this blond-blue family communicating entirely in East Asian fluency in our Western European surroundings got me doing quite a bit of rubbernecking. So, now my attention distribution inhabited a new dichotomy. In my eye/ear focus was still the cuteness overload that was my nephew clamouring on the climbing frame. But in my eye/ear periphery was the curiosity overload of the backstory of this European family's Japanese aptitude.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqOfAwrypg_knRD7fa6elLR8oUXUbZLA-g2i88S9_WuD13Fgux9HujnqRu6kKtg5879Bi_X9oLczvjLc124oQcUgS4LDGatJEFbv7WD9cNyB7QY6ttzJv1swHuZfDnCzfMzujFAGYWZtpi3DuM4ytV3wGXg7STxRDOfeVrRzgVkt4yZaEkBzblhvRj=s940" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="940" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqOfAwrypg_knRD7fa6elLR8oUXUbZLA-g2i88S9_WuD13Fgux9HujnqRu6kKtg5879Bi_X9oLczvjLc124oQcUgS4LDGatJEFbv7WD9cNyB7QY6ttzJv1swHuZfDnCzfMzujFAGYWZtpi3DuM4ytV3wGXg7STxRDOfeVrRzgVkt4yZaEkBzblhvRj=w640-h342" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Japanese family playing in the park</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a while, my little one decided he wanted to try the slide. With its gentle slope and elevated edges it was safer than the climbing frame, so my peripheral rubbernecking of the curious family slightly increased as they continued their latest round of rounders. By that time, it was the brother who ran to base, beating his sister there. With that, their amplified joy caused mine to spill over and I said with a huge smile on my face, 「 hayai sugi!」, declaring ‘too fast!’ in Japanese. And in that moment, suddenly their game slowed down as they clocked I understood the language too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Scandinavian-esque father, daughter and son’s brains clearly interjected, ‘huuhhh?!!’</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though unlike my brain interjection leading to curiosity, rubbernecking and smiles; their brain interjection led to silence, no eye-contact and deadpan faces. Without saying a word to me or each other, they stopped their game, held fast to their bat & ball, and slowly began walking towards the same park gate they had entered through. The fun had completely left their beings and it was time to leave our shared land of playtime asap. The change happened so quickly that I was still smiling widely at them, waiting for...I'm not sure what. Perhaps a little banter on how each non-Japanese party had come to acquire the East Asian dialect. Maybe the father’s career had taken him to the far east where his kids were exposed to the language from my nephew’s infant age. Maybe I could then share I’d spent my final secondary school years in Japan after winning a scholarship from the Japanese embassy in central London just a few tube stops away. But all that happened was, as the mute father followed his mute kids towards the gate, he momentarily jolted his head towards me, gave me a half sarcastic smile/half annoyed sneer, before exiting the park.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEickzx_71eNbJHtDs2x4MKEedjWqnD-epGBgubil1qzLjaEf1RCjMzzeus7GeQN-smiHOU-RgFG6FrRofQ0lWky8VAzGNBcs8gy4fvVTg03pJjfN90GAa51eFxhOikwFsf5_TtUsQTJGYSLLwbPzaTzZ7_Pi8cqKGl1jroLfVJgVXU6dNDWM7ov9UkH=s1337" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="1337" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEickzx_71eNbJHtDs2x4MKEedjWqnD-epGBgubil1qzLjaEf1RCjMzzeus7GeQN-smiHOU-RgFG6FrRofQ0lWky8VAzGNBcs8gy4fvVTg03pJjfN90GAa51eFxhOikwFsf5_TtUsQTJGYSLLwbPzaTzZ7_Pi8cqKGl1jroLfVJgVXU6dNDWM7ov9UkH=w640-h282" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Blond-haired, blue-eyed sneer(!)</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My brain interjected, ‘What the…?!??’</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What had just happened? Why hadn’t the fact that my Japanese fluency matching theirs been met with a jolly ‘hey, that’s cool, we understand each other’ rather than a dejected, ‘we have to get out of here asap…’, leaving the good vibes amongst the sunlit lime-green leaves rustling in the gentle breeze behind? I started brainstorming. Speaking Japanese for that family was some kind of bonding agent, something special that they could do that no one else could. Hey, I get it, I used Yorùbá the same way with my family growing up in the British north. The difference being, meeting other Yorùbá speakers was always welcomed with great excitement...whereas here, meeting another Japanese speaker was rejected with shift contempt if not ‘alarm’. The fact that they had seen a Nigerian woman with her small child as the only other park inhabitants probably meant they felt safe in their unique linguist bubble that no one else could penetrate. That was probably true for their fellow European Londoners, surely even more so of this African Londoner too! But no, I had penetrated their lexical bubble of grammatical safety and phonetic security, and some sort of ‘panic’ had ensued. In that public British park, my Yorùbá-Nigerian self had somehow broken into that blond-blue family’s private Japanese home.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYIfWjPmnlIEiRVk7kfhjE2H748QhDOkisMtfuvzMpVOBsJZ2fVDbafRdXOB2R2splzaJFde5l_NQ_1pccxzvK5op5kzPDeyYTKO2txPHTDbIhLePyzB7X7s8RykercSOiyL7mvNH6ZhTUrZvDO6L8iH5oSE01Jd9nBXI9ijNZIsZ-wYOxJPxsqx3Y=s1772" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1772" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYIfWjPmnlIEiRVk7kfhjE2H748QhDOkisMtfuvzMpVOBsJZ2fVDbafRdXOB2R2splzaJFde5l_NQ_1pccxzvK5op5kzPDeyYTKO2txPHTDbIhLePyzB7X7s8RykercSOiyL7mvNH6ZhTUrZvDO6L8iH5oSE01Jd9nBXI9ijNZIsZ-wYOxJPxsqx3Y=w640-h256" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Surprise hearing Yorùbá speakers</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mouth interjected, hmmm…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My periphery now being empty, my full focus went on my young one. He had been oblivious to the corner family throughout, enjoying himself too much running to the slide ladder, climbing to the platform, then slipping down the shiny metal sheet to the bouncy rubber ground over and over again. His smiling face emulating pure delight reset my own smiling face that had momentarily sported a furrowed brow whilst pondering the odd interaction. I was happy my nephew hadn’t picked up on the Japanese-speaking blond-blue family’s vibe. London was supposed to be a multicultural haven, an ethnic salad bowl of social cohesion. He would have enough negativity directed towards him walking the world as a Black person, best for him not to clock that such social rejection could also apparently come from being friendly in Asian languages(!) Indeed, of all the things I’d initially been worried about happening to him outside the comfort and safety of his mum home, it’s fair to say that was the least probable that my overactive imagination could have stretched to.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcVw-ntwWCw6aj1iVGsC7xDFDq8DJkdNOvJEwYT-B_AJf_Vp7A1mOjq1ikH6moNX2ffyA4SW4fiKGHa4tPvqRc5konySqMgHWOe-BueCgT4Ux5d8tEniwaSeHYAttTcAGrpJSrLDCgTeJtdajeyEEBK-de8Zb_9rHEE61t0E5B_8boFRKrJa2ImTuo=s626" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="626" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcVw-ntwWCw6aj1iVGsC7xDFDq8DJkdNOvJEwYT-B_AJf_Vp7A1mOjq1ikH6moNX2ffyA4SW4fiKGHa4tPvqRc5konySqMgHWOe-BueCgT4Ux5d8tEniwaSeHYAttTcAGrpJSrLDCgTeJtdajeyEEBK-de8Zb_9rHEE61t0E5B_8boFRKrJa2ImTuo=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Happy nephew still enjoying the park</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">My young one interjected, ‘I’m tired!’</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Okay, time to take nephew home.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He still had some residual bounce as he skipped along the pavement during the 5-minute stroll to his front door. I then delivered him back to his mother, filled with fresh air, fresh fun and sleepy eyes. I had done my aunty job well as he drooped off to bed, giving his mum more resting time. Soon afterwards, I bade my cousins goodbye and headed out to return home. By that time, the sun was setting on my day of tangentially encountering rising sun land. The interesting events swished, bounced and swirled in my mind as I ventured into the global village contained in one city: multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-parkland London.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My memory interjected, ‘Well, I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon!’</div></span><p></p>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-43784349602089346212021-11-10T09:58:00.003-08:002022-03-06T05:11:24.878-08:00Carry On Luggage<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3olUc9jsQnxhhnQ24CXKcdHh8421pZZscD3r-_d4uGW3fyOUUxDVWjG6Q8AkxuzYTreU2oSSCy1C2i7TfgMRxI-JFFWBB5XwAW9kNoBVINMii2FU9VQnp93XRi2NCLM2A3F53JNFjZLbomCSfydgWVFve4gwt5HnMCEwfc9z0tQV5vSgxjH_nh65Q=s1000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3olUc9jsQnxhhnQ24CXKcdHh8421pZZscD3r-_d4uGW3fyOUUxDVWjG6Q8AkxuzYTreU2oSSCy1C2i7TfgMRxI-JFFWBB5XwAW9kNoBVINMii2FU9VQnp93XRi2NCLM2A3F53JNFjZLbomCSfydgWVFve4gwt5HnMCEwfc9z0tQV5vSgxjH_nh65Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-align: justify;">jet-setting </span>cultural aficionado on the road again</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Being a cultural aficionado, I’ve always loved jet-setting to different world locales, dropping into different countries, immersing myself into different communities with people of different ideas and aesthetics. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0MwX37sBuILHylBwWfBApq0-m25kHlQg3XllpbTOrVEP8TbbGtioxFmoZe8E5oCdKFEdCy1Bq019hjhihC862aIL24TmkGMyAsSddfmYtP-ZTp9R9inhtFKI4oK9a4IPVnU9PCRSRfHrdSqbyznpt4Se9eIDpQEEv0GR_iDZJj8ZdNkStS5wmhkAH=s1610" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="1610" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0MwX37sBuILHylBwWfBApq0-m25kHlQg3XllpbTOrVEP8TbbGtioxFmoZe8E5oCdKFEdCy1Bq019hjhihC862aIL24TmkGMyAsSddfmYtP-ZTp9R9inhtFKI4oK9a4IPVnU9PCRSRfHrdSqbyznpt4Se9eIDpQEEv0GR_iDZJj8ZdNkStS5wmhkAH=w640-h254" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Head in the clouds again...literally!</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though one constant within the global hopscotching is the monotony of airports. My standard routine for years has been arriving at departures lounges (huffing and puffing), searching for a baggage trolley (hopefully no ‘accidental’ elbowing involved), finding my airline check-in (of course on the opposite side of the airport), waiting in the passenger queue (always at least one baby practising for the opera), and then staving off boredom-induced vertical sleep because that’s what the impending horizontal flight is for.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfO5boqQXj2LgEOWRXsb2-kwwhZKaCMJ5VTB_za-lS7vYv-T4zNXuSbj9BLuc6460S-V6A53PGl7rjmAkUIHX2_BEAvb0pm4e0hDc-AWT0fn7HrqtYuM1N6KXNV21KgM9U99NSzMTuVlno6Ws_u8BiqH3GyHhOTTfiNZ_Jx91IUhOjiAB3UBLUsvqp=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfO5boqQXj2LgEOWRXsb2-kwwhZKaCMJ5VTB_za-lS7vYv-T4zNXuSbj9BLuc6460S-V6A53PGl7rjmAkUIHX2_BEAvb0pm4e0hDc-AWT0fn7HrqtYuM1N6KXNV21KgM9U99NSzMTuVlno6Ws_u8BiqH3GyHhOTTfiNZ_Jx91IUhOjiAB3UBLUsvqp=w400-h240" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A departure from the norm</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few years back, it was time to do it all over again as I headed from London to the Egyptian Red Sea coast for a writing hiatus. So I started packing my bags and bought my Turkish Airlines ticket. The flight wasn’t leaving as usual from Gatwick Airport south of London but from Heathrow to the west of the city. This had me grinning as the latter was more easily accessible by public transport. Though after exiting the tube and going through the standard departures routine, I was greeted by a check-in lady with short blond hair and a perpetually furrowed brow who apparently didn’t know what a smile was. I surmised she was a recent hire and still learning the ropes, hence the slightly stern look of concentration on her face that was to overspill into our interaction.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4fAU2RgiADSmBsNkCo80QZedQ7KvYlk-XO_vxnqNpgnoElICMzHPYtT0Q4r6AZiyiYEjpEYv7eyPVUF6H5xEhfog0bi-rWfzZ4YjgPpg9S1FKkye0J8Ih7HvGB5hU95xIYiY58zRTiegoB0b_pXN83irg4JPsq1n_bRBQ-kTNBgDV2PvkXyOwbO8U=s860" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="860" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4fAU2RgiADSmBsNkCo80QZedQ7KvYlk-XO_vxnqNpgnoElICMzHPYtT0Q4r6AZiyiYEjpEYv7eyPVUF6H5xEhfog0bi-rWfzZ4YjgPpg9S1FKkye0J8Ih7HvGB5hU95xIYiY58zRTiegoB0b_pXN83irg4JPsq1n_bRBQ-kTNBgDV2PvkXyOwbO8U=w400-h296" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Check in chagrin</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Good morning’ I said, which she labouredly reciprocated before adding, ‘Can I see your passport?’ I was in half a mind to say ‘Can I see YOUR passport?’ just to mess with her. But thinking airports these days were not the best arena to try out my comedic chops, I decided against it and produced the required document. The check-in lady flicked through with stern fingers before lifting her stern face and saying in a stern voice, ‘Where is your visa?’ ‘I don’t need one’ I replied. Still, considering the standard UK tourist visa to Egypt was 2 weeks, she was adamant to see permission for my 4-month stay. With an upturned smile to neutralise her downturned frown, I explained about getting a visa extension whilst in Egypt like I’d previous done and showed her the accompanying stamps in my passport. Ah, she had me worried for a moment as I was thinking 'they’re never this thorough at Gatwick! Now, I wish the flight was leaving from there after all!' But after some discussion with her supervisor, the newbie agreed I was good to go and we could continue checking-in. Phew!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYLO-FNVQIzWacLGJzN57UgqPstQUv1qK29TPs4CwvtO5SjFsRWiq3DRwqG_DZgrZQnatq5wVLP880yvk1LZjH7-0gN0BsSp6PE2DihDqnCVbl4FFSTAfRPPVCNGdmSPwcFBTTwYbfg-P4pxVWPs02mhWNJDlJxJbTQB9QqDhy6vrXszzC_mE7Wq3G=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYLO-FNVQIzWacLGJzN57UgqPstQUv1qK29TPs4CwvtO5SjFsRWiq3DRwqG_DZgrZQnatq5wVLP880yvk1LZjH7-0gN0BsSp6PE2DihDqnCVbl4FFSTAfRPPVCNGdmSPwcFBTTwYbfg-P4pxVWPs02mhWNJDlJxJbTQB9QqDhy6vrXszzC_mE7Wq3G=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Passport piss take</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I passed her my big suitcase to be weighed which was well within the allowance. However, she then eyed my slightly ‘bulky’ laptop bag and pointedly asked to weigh that too. Damn it, again the Gatwick crew weren't that observant!! It came up on the scales as 14kg, whereas the max carry-on weight was 8kg. Little Ms. Stern Face declared I'd have to lose the extra 6kg of weight from my carry-on luggage. My mind split into 2 tracks. In the background, I ruminated how Turkish Airlines seating was slightly wider than other carriers, meaning they didn’t mind the extra 6kg on my backside (Sir Mix-a-lot would be proud), but not when I was carrying that weight independently. In the foreground, I just gave the stern-faced newbie a blank stare as I contemplated throwing away some of my clothes in my big suitcase or my research documents in my laptop bag...and I needed both! Aagghhhhh!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmenQ_XvQ00ypcl8D5eet-3hY1f5mjIAxw8kJbB1iLuBr11GLnZd8HWCxWQ6CwIr1wLVi3hR4fsRJCj-IDjWAj2Y8RUvrsxUwwTZQpD0t-raFgFeuFOeMIVZ8_CLs-u-b6XLNAOeo_ZNcEG12ekXH6oVVQBvcxnTsp7NtCmgJJI7pWoDNOmuQ5X6QP=s683" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="683" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmenQ_XvQ00ypcl8D5eet-3hY1f5mjIAxw8kJbB1iLuBr11GLnZd8HWCxWQ6CwIr1wLVi3hR4fsRJCj-IDjWAj2Y8RUvrsxUwwTZQpD0t-raFgFeuFOeMIVZ8_CLs-u-b6XLNAOeo_ZNcEG12ekXH6oVVQBvcxnTsp7NtCmgJJI7pWoDNOmuQ5X6QP=w400-h265" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Carrying excess baggage</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On a side table I was thinking how to swing this? After opening up my luggage, inserting my papers and looking at my overspilling clothes, the answer came to me, I would wear them all at once! Right there in the departures lounge I did an inverse striptease (dress-tease?), buckling 2 belts around my waist and putting on 7 t-shirts as well as a cardigan! After that, I pulled some stretchy trousers over my jeans, and stuffed more jeans down the front (damn, it really pays to be a big lady sometimes!) Next was my smalls and I remembered the large coat pocket hole that I'd been planning to sew for weeks. Lucky I hadn't, because I stuffed at least 5 socks and 25 pants down there (damn, it really pays to have a large bomber jacket!) The last weight reduction tactic was to just carry my laptop by hand as I causally swaggered back to the check-in wearing half my wardrobe. As luck would have it, the stern-minator was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by another check-in lady who was oblivious to my 'clothes change' and sudden bulkiness. So with the scales singing the right number of kilograms, she let me through. Hurray!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgptQJBOAKQ8NLM_d8zXpvSj1_74bbF8hsUSFvUlV69w95Xw0YYfuiC5lG9vVXX9noBekmnf1h-MPfvTcItP3TSMcluqXRtqPgUHMduk1jvyCbSYugLcX0JMHDLsIridaagRDgrAiui6Ub_fudzMLtvXs8acY4SZjDhbGLF15IWMTmVRYTmRCBzH-Eo=s610" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="610" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgptQJBOAKQ8NLM_d8zXpvSj1_74bbF8hsUSFvUlV69w95Xw0YYfuiC5lG9vVXX9noBekmnf1h-MPfvTcItP3TSMcluqXRtqPgUHMduk1jvyCbSYugLcX0JMHDLsIridaagRDgrAiui6Ub_fudzMLtvXs8acY4SZjDhbGLF15IWMTmVRYTmRCBzH-Eo=w400-h361" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This lady stole my moves!</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I confidently proceeded to the security checkpoints. However, my swagger slightly morphed into a stagger as I started roasting under the extra insulation. Now, sweaty and panting in wintertime is not the ideal persona to present to security. Regardless, I nonchalantly went through the body scanner, and some random buckle elicited a dreaded beep. A female security guard asked me to step aside and patted me down. She was clearly bemused feeling all my bouncy softness, as well as seeing how the excess padding further accented my killer curves. But as those in themselves weren’t weaponised, I then retrieved my laptop bag and headed to the my boarding gate. Passing through duty free, I always indulged in the free perfume samples. This time though, the spray had to penetrate through the additional layers, so I practically showered myself in flowery spritz. By that time, the oven vibes matched the desert heat of my destination. Still, I decided to keep my walking wardrobe status until safely on the plane. I cleared the final gate check-in and just ignored the curious side-eyes at the panting perfumery entering the jet bridge. Sorted!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6xM6imL18-GSXwC_IaGMC8qDO_8PrcbpN128w6D7m6h2QBhDvf9yXlOO-S0fhZu7eTsWjw8G-aKaeB_LK0XwS-nYwAyySBsHapumg0MyDrwOQez0J7OtnXIIHVKjy7KM5v_DGYzOM95lnDcHxm1RVIXak6xW87dOyRs3jiBHcscO2EhRRIzBb7Nro=s750" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="750" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6xM6imL18-GSXwC_IaGMC8qDO_8PrcbpN128w6D7m6h2QBhDvf9yXlOO-S0fhZu7eTsWjw8G-aKaeB_LK0XwS-nYwAyySBsHapumg0MyDrwOQez0J7OtnXIIHVKjy7KM5v_DGYzOM95lnDcHxm1RVIXak6xW87dOyRs3jiBHcscO2EhRRIzBb7Nro=w400-h229" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Duty free = free perfume bath</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After embarking and safely in the skies, I stood up and began doing my ‘undress-tease’. Off came my fragrant t-shirts one at a time. From my eye corners, I could see the acrobatic reactions on flight attendants and other passengers' faces, eyes fluctuating from wide to squinting to furrowed to ‘huh?!?’ When I did my final magic trick pulling 'nuff pants out of my coat, they were properly perplexed if not plain traumatised, LOL! Finally free of the superfluous fabric now stuffed in a duty free carrier bag, I settled into my seat before my amusement morphed into annoyance at the airport/airlines' money grubbing. Excess carry-on luggage really isn't an issue considering passengers can buy loads of heavy stuff in duty free like large bottles of booze and perfume JUST BEFORE boarding the plane. Those items bring your total hand luggage way above the allocated 8kg, so they are just screwing us over! Anywho, it was still a series of ‘carry on’ capers which the inflight entertainment had no match for.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWFsTx3QxS3ODISIDjQMSrXkXqNrP_b2UsPzwI62VbW6JMMHGfUki7A5X4IcMVXV0ukhFBoRa0A6MLpOEgHDfsKYG5iDmNswWNpAJ9YnsPyT4fQKIPXdJFcDxqCCxFaQvCmvCH-9OOdqniQdBy5-f38DdorTD49PY6m4EZxXvFU6o5gb3kxGDyKU4Z=s2000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="2000" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWFsTx3QxS3ODISIDjQMSrXkXqNrP_b2UsPzwI62VbW6JMMHGfUki7A5X4IcMVXV0ukhFBoRa0A6MLpOEgHDfsKYG5iDmNswWNpAJ9YnsPyT4fQKIPXdJFcDxqCCxFaQvCmvCH-9OOdqniQdBy5-f38DdorTD49PY6m4EZxXvFU6o5gb3kxGDyKU4Z=w400-h238" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">'Undress-tease' as in-flight entertainment a.k.a. trauma...</span></b></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And how was Egypt? Sunny!! It was lovely being back in the natural (vs insulation-induced) heat balanced out with breezy ventilation in my t-shirt and sandals. No more need for socks and heavy coats…until the return flight that was…</div></span>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6176357973535779010.post-44091119631857995292021-11-07T06:47:00.003-08:002021-11-29T00:43:59.096-08:00Signs of Diaspora<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh35xABkn4wzve5hKMVRg1LbwvnC66Wm6bp7Rvm9BieV8OPpxcUCzlnCALyL2cXx5wxYaqlWvtW_GoRAC89Q_ULdc_fW2v8fPWR-53VxvtFPsxO2-wU_LYNlSCsiR_RoE7v7JMIllfHSI5GZLybGY7hCMOSMlMvcVvaRRU_MYESwCV8kgz5Cqgg_E5_=s500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="500" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh35xABkn4wzve5hKMVRg1LbwvnC66Wm6bp7Rvm9BieV8OPpxcUCzlnCALyL2cXx5wxYaqlWvtW_GoRAC89Q_ULdc_fW2v8fPWR-53VxvtFPsxO2-wU_LYNlSCsiR_RoE7v7JMIllfHSI5GZLybGY7hCMOSMlMvcVvaRRU_MYESwCV8kgz5Cqgg_E5_=w400-h335" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><i>African Global Migration </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i>Embarking on studies and a career abroad was to expand my understanding of the world. But not everyone is able to fully appreciate African diversity.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With a sense of comforting calm, I got up from my seat in the staffroom, my teaching bag filled with lesson materials. Ever a diligent lecturer, I'd already come into college over the weekend to do the bulk of my prep for the week’s impending classes, making online quizzes, creating supplementary visuals, etc. All that remained that morning was the final pre-lesson prep of photocopying worksheets, cutting out pelmanism cards, and grabbing my small gift bag filled with reward sweets for extra plucky learners. (Hey, university students deserve chocolate too!) So I stepped out of my cubicle, waltzed into the corridor and entered my classroom, shoulders loose and ready to go. As usual, the well-prepared class was going well with the 20+ students at this all female college nicely engaged in the activities. The floor length windows bathing us in glowing sunlight undoubtedly added to the lucidity of the learning process as well as the positive vibes from the views of green foliage dotting the campus grounds outside. The icing on the top though was hearing the afternoon call to prayer from the nearby local mosque.</span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Ahdan: a sign of serene rejuvenation.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTVCkd6tIkebq82FI0hUdBHjS82cXp4Y5l0uLGCPaaNDnj1-Kt2lWO_PS9xY1_7j5Z1vWHSff7lyd_bZeX2iswmbsr30jDczraRD9J3rGYRbfu_EqIWa9Vx1livJjkuhLIHSgpVex2FVZaC5g03-aD43S2FuObCUTTfdw9zxb1QKUgjAZo5cwlS-Hw=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTVCkd6tIkebq82FI0hUdBHjS82cXp4Y5l0uLGCPaaNDnj1-Kt2lWO_PS9xY1_7j5Z1vWHSff7lyd_bZeX2iswmbsr30jDczraRD9J3rGYRbfu_EqIWa9Vx1livJjkuhLIHSgpVex2FVZaC5g03-aD43S2FuObCUTTfdw9zxb1QKUgjAZo5cwlS-Hw=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Mosque with minarets calling people to prayer</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As a pious person myself, I loved hearing the muadhan’s passion-filled voice inviting all to replenish their spiritual devotion, adjust their moral recalibration and encourage wisdom-filled reflection. Each day, I loved the variety of changing voices too; young, old, high, low, fast, slow. It was a diversity missing in church bells ringing on Sundays also inviting people to prayer; either in Nigeria where I started school or the UK where I continued my schooling. But my Emirati surroundings in the Arabian Gulf gave me more in that heavenly respect, as well as unrelenting sunshine. The latter therefore merited my Nigerian àǹkàrá work clothes being airy enough to let my skin breathe as required per the local desert-heat at the same time as covering my body as required per the local etiquette. Come the end of class, I was an island of bold colour prints, marine blue, bright orange, sunny yellow, regal purple in the sea of black habaya cloaks and shayla headscarves adorned by the youthful ladies filling the bright white corridor. Some had their own little splashes of colour with embroidery, sequences or beads popping on the black backdrop of their flowing fabric, showing a little diversity of style. I’d barely taken two steps towards the staffroom when quite suddenly a group of four unknown students stopped in front of me, smiling.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wide, toothy grins: a sign of welcoming warmth.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgUjWO-5TMMHeT4jYZtsHO41ncmURuc9-FALtT1a-8RhulgyTNuFYoEaRi2Qvm4b7hf-F1el0ff-G0q5bZZoPG2jaVGiTfZtKqs-01y7-rDsQW83ZiCaMquoBKW83jDtlmXrKRsizB3vXVctvTsLiCs6c9762fFVOljIJwBlMzGllGTuv2Vn-T0Bea=s1145" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="1145" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgUjWO-5TMMHeT4jYZtsHO41ncmURuc9-FALtT1a-8RhulgyTNuFYoEaRi2Qvm4b7hf-F1el0ff-G0q5bZZoPG2jaVGiTfZtKqs-01y7-rDsQW83ZiCaMquoBKW83jDtlmXrKRsizB3vXVctvTsLiCs6c9762fFVOljIJwBlMzGllGTuv2Vn-T0Bea=w400-h338" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Happy, smiley abaya ladies</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I smiled back at these friendly students wanting to say ‘Hi’ to the teacher who I guessed they had heard gave out reward sweets during the start of week lesson games.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘As-salamu alaykum teacher, how are you?’ said the student on the far left.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Wa ʿalaykumu s-salam, I’m fine, thank you,’ I responded, followed by…</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘How were your lessons today?’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Who was your teacher?’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘What did you learn about?’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">‘Do you now have another lesson?’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Whilst the far left student was the most vocally engaged, I still turned my head frequently to address my words to all of them. As I did this, I saw from the corner of my eye the girl standing second to the right beaming enthusiastically at me. I turned to meet her gaze when, saying nothing, she suddenly leaned back, raised both hands towards me with fingers slightly bent, index and thumb sticking out at right angles, all whilst keeping the same enthusiastic smile. The second time I panned over the group, she did it again when we made eye-contact…and yet again during my third sweep. She was just in her happy place, standing quietly throwing ‘cool’ Tupac Shakur-esque gestures my way as she was apparently ‘communicating in my language.’</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Angular hand gestures: a sign of being ‘down’ and ‘with it’(?)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9zLe51zSJvlEl4f20jFLBDug6d6_00S5c-lqD6lBSjTW5T7F0zEqoXCmNfUMISGlDRd0Xw7FEtUV3iephE_ggxOg2SA1TYBAwvJY2FhuSHuoJXXTtuCCd2ghXP3LkHEJAYBEPNoLvspOvYJFzOQe8ynZwY38GOFMEaNTSnFFOqVP5AiYp-Hd96vYE=s1360" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1360" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9zLe51zSJvlEl4f20jFLBDug6d6_00S5c-lqD6lBSjTW5T7F0zEqoXCmNfUMISGlDRd0Xw7FEtUV3iephE_ggxOg2SA1TYBAwvJY2FhuSHuoJXXTtuCCd2ghXP3LkHEJAYBEPNoLvspOvYJFzOQe8ynZwY38GOFMEaNTSnFFOqVP5AiYp-Hd96vYE=w400-h330" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Tupaq & Snoop throwing up hand signs</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And right there in the college corridor, I’d encountered yet another example of a phenomenon that had followed me throughout my life across the world. Whilst I was finishing my schooling in Japan as a 17-year-old Yorùbá-Nigerian exchange student, the Japanese secondary school students in the boys basketball team insisted on a ‘Black American slam dunk’ from me, even though I was shorter than them! Whilst finishing university in France as a 21-year-old Yorùbá-Nigerian language student, the Swedish language students insisted on dancing to ‘Black American songs’ with me. And now as a 30-something-year-old Yorùbá-Nigerian higher education lecturer, this Emirati foundation year student insisted on throwing up ‘Black American hand signs’ at me. Upon seeing my melanated face, she was unable to discern any form of distinct diversity like I’d done hearing the different mosque muadhans’ voices or even seeing the slight variations in black habaya designs. Yes, she and all the other people across the world I’d encountered seemingly had no substantive idea of the African diaspora.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Narrow understanding: a sign of limited world exposure.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbnSThFatZN00Z_0-5qFs9AWgI2PQ2xqlgZVxwXvme-j3-0cozeq2RBSiUjZ8oaDjvZXbbKSwOGZduAYo5-ypIwuLO153dBxcaW_0lFPMbzH9pQxSaDo4YHZfRSxMfCTo28sAyfZLmI5mU0BZKbJE8siMTExzq29tmibRn3-E8qXTsmIM5NhVwLJ0g=s1366" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1282" data-original-width="1366" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbnSThFatZN00Z_0-5qFs9AWgI2PQ2xqlgZVxwXvme-j3-0cozeq2RBSiUjZ8oaDjvZXbbKSwOGZduAYo5-ypIwuLO153dBxcaW_0lFPMbzH9pQxSaDo4YHZfRSxMfCTo28sAyfZLmI5mU0BZKbJE8siMTExzq29tmibRn3-E8qXTsmIM5NhVwLJ0g=w400-h375" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Slamdunking Black Americans</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Didn't 'too cool for school' corridor girl know that all of humanity originally emerged from East Africa, home to ethnic groups like the Sandawe and Hadza people (circa 200,000 years ago)? Hadn't she heard that from there began a natural/unforced migration across the continent, including to West Africa producing the Nok and then Yorùbá civilisations amongst many others (circa 70,000 years ago)? Was she unaware further migration occurred out of the continent with many passing through the Arabian Peninsula, where we were both standing, on their way to South Asia (circa 50,000 years ago)? Had she no idea some settled in the Andaman Islands, forming the Onge and Jarawa ethnic groups? Didn't she get others continued on their way to Southeast Asia like the Semang and Aeta people? Hadn't she learned some then headed off to Oceania like the iTaukei community, all still distinctively featuring the African phenotype in skin colour, hair texture and facial features? Was she uninformed others still branched off to East Asia to form the Jōmon, Ainu and Ryukyuan ethnic groups (circa 30,000 years ago)? All of these people and cultures are still thriving today…and would most probably look at corridor girl’s weird ‘sign language’ trying to work out what she was doing.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But then again, had she no inclination that there was also an unnatural/forced migration from the continent through mass abduction and human trafficking? Wasn't she clued up that their undesired destination again included our current location of the Arabian Gulf as well as South Asia over the course of 14 centuries (between the 500s-1900s) where a minimum of 28 million abducted Africans were trafficked? (Accounting for those who died on route, the actual number is estimated at higher than 140 million.) Couldn't she perceive that other undesired destinations included Western Europe and the Americas over the course of 4 centuries (between the 1400s-1800s). Didn't she comprehend that in total, around 11-13 million abducted Africans were trafficked to the Americas with 95% going to South and Central America/the Caribbean and only 5% to North America? Hadn't she clocked that, for this reason, after Nigeria, Portuguese-speaking Brazil is now the second most populous Black country in the world versus the comparatively much smaller number of Black people in English-speaking Canada and the USA? Regardless, couldn't she grasp that, riding atop the wave of neo-American imperialism, the fashion, music, dance and film culture of this relatively small group of people originating from the African continent is beamed throughout the world’s cinemas, televisions, radios and magazines…becoming the skewed ‘face’ of Blackness far and wide?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Overarching global recognition: a sign of cultural visibility.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNoNEjiKH6zGFJMhTULKn0xYRo5FJXqZjBwis-4YZXIZVdzATyawnwsNTex_yedpGHe4MsYmWSo0HFMAXaTaYpCT4Kcn0D0sULkk1Yrc4G5ZNzsp8QncRc-amy9Pxib4doXtXL-oKntAGqC5wuxFOP5x4CRW2Mj-QjtH06J5BYny9MDhe_aqs7Ub4D=s943" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="943" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNoNEjiKH6zGFJMhTULKn0xYRo5FJXqZjBwis-4YZXIZVdzATyawnwsNTex_yedpGHe4MsYmWSo0HFMAXaTaYpCT4Kcn0D0sULkk1Yrc4G5ZNzsp8QncRc-amy9Pxib4doXtXL-oKntAGqC5wuxFOP5x4CRW2Mj-QjtH06J5BYny9MDhe_aqs7Ub4D=w400-h216" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;">iTaukei</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"> ladies in Fuji, Oceania</span></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is what had led over the course of my life to Japanese slam-dunking assumptions, Swedish dancing suppositions (okay, I'm not going to lie, that one's true!), and Emirati hand sign expectations…except I am a Yorùbá-Nigerian. I am melodic àmì ohùn words and poetic afiwe sentences. I am studious ọmọwe diligence and unwavering agbalágba respect. I am spicy òkèlè food and merry ẹmu drinks. I am exciting abula sports and cognitive àyò games. I am engaging ìpè atí ìdáhun interaction, joyous ówàmbẹ̀ music and expressive àlùjó & ijó-ìtàgé dances. I am winding irun bíba, dídì & kíkó hairstyles and cute ólékú fashions. What’s more, I am protruding etè gestures! Who needs hands anyway when you have plump, ample, luscious lips to point with? It’s very efficient for your lips to point as your mouth talks: instant visual indication accompanying audio explanation of your desired focus.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Beyond my Yorùbá sistren & brethren, melanated Africans are the most genetically and ethnically diverse and dispersed people on the planet. We are so very culturally rich on the continent, with many more cultural branches developed across the diaspora from natural and indeed forced migration. But for the ‘cool’ corridor girl, my Nigerian àǹkàrá stylings did not detract her engrained imagery of Blackness. I was a Black entity, which for her only embodied a young Black American persona. I mean seriously, with my visible whisps of grey hair, I was twice her age; why would I be throwing up youthful hand gestures? In a burst of celebration after completing my weekend lesson preparation?? Regardless, neither my mature years nor my academic position as a possible lecturer for one of her classes next term mattered, all obscured by my Blackness and related ‘coolness’ for this handsy student throwing up signs after getting all the wrong signals.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Youthful misconception: a sign of innocence vs ignorance(?)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfcllc2kB2jaNzH7El2LYustfK9pnkBYyxqwib7GSIxwyNmYF5eGSDeMKlz__zgTq7W6mvo1t5UfsMtJf27bMvQEZnR--HcCRO191j4K6hEKbtw_t4WVEeu_EtiFJQHoTAhac4upKa5WJcsn-hb5H4Re87HbcyKfEj6fzadW6Wd6Kw2fqbhjrQwrPO=s678" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="678" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfcllc2kB2jaNzH7El2LYustfK9pnkBYyxqwib7GSIxwyNmYF5eGSDeMKlz__zgTq7W6mvo1t5UfsMtJf27bMvQEZnR--HcCRO191j4K6hEKbtw_t4WVEeu_EtiFJQHoTAhac4upKa5WJcsn-hb5H4Re87HbcyKfEj6fzadW6Wd6Kw2fqbhjrQwrPO=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Yorùbá ladies living it up!</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In any case, it was a fleeting thought and I really had to start preparing for my next lesson. So I opened my gift bag of goodies and told the girls to help themselves. They all enthusiastically reached inside and even the gesturing girl stopped leaning back, instead leaning forward as her hands now having more important things to do like acquiring chocolate. It was the perfect way to close out our interaction before continuing to navigate through the ever-present habaya-cloaked crowd back to the staffroom. My thoughts then went to my Black American colleagues also on the teaching staff, wondering if they too had had random young ladies coming up to them smiling, throwing up hand signs, trying to get some ‘street cred’ right there in the college corridors. Either way, it was a clear indication that more education was/is needed worldwide in recognising signs of diaspora.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Abiọ́dún Abdulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06321519127844852145noreply@blogger.com0