Awake into the wee hours of the morning…. With only The Letter Black for company… The part where they start off as a Praise and Worship Band in church before morphing into this group still has me scratching my head though. Their official bio’s here.
Scotland play Brazil down south today. Today’s cab driver is a chatty Scotsman merrily drawing puffs from his nicotine inhaler. From the get go it seems like he is in the mood to talk. The bright sunny weather offers him a starting point.
– Sunny day today, he says when I finally get my seat belt fastened and the journey kicked off. We make small talk about the weather, and how spring seems to have come a little earlier this year. He gently chides me, warning me not to tempt fate by celebrating the weather.
– It can change any time you know. We just need to enjoy it while it lasts. His comment is delivered with a faint air of brooding, like an indulgent father warning a son to mend his ways after drinking a keg of palm wine, and belching for good measure.
Silence descends as we meander through the streets – packed with cars during the lunch time rush hour. To break the uncomfortable silence, I ask what his predictions for the Scotland game will be.
– The lads will get beat, he says. They’ve got nae talent, he adds. I ponder his words. The Scottish male national football team has been dire of late. The coach, a certain Craig Levein seems more intent on not losing than winning, nearly coping a 1-1 draw with Lichtenstein who are not exactly known for football.
Out of the blue, he asks me if I’m Nigerian. I reply in the affirmative. There is a certain lustre in his eyes as he proceeds to recount his memories of watching Scotland play Nigeria in a football friendly just before the 2002 World Cup.
-It was my son’s birthday, he says. I took the entire family down to Pittodrie for the game. Great occasion too, he adds. Lots of colour, happy fans, and singing. Oh and Scotland lost the game any way.
I laugh, uneasily. It is yet another stark reminder of how poor his National football team have been since the halcyon years of successive World Cup qualifications.
Us Nigerians have always been colorful performers I say. We love to sing and dance.
He smiles wistfully. You know even when Nigeria was leading, the fans kept singing a song, ‘All we are saying, give us one goal’
I laugh out loud, its a popular song in Nigeria I say. It’s been used in diverse situations from protest marches to football games.
-Maybe they were protesting, and asking for more goals, he says. We laugh together.
The rest of the journey is spent ruminating on how football songs evolve. One more good cab trip I’ve made – well worth the 20 pounds I paid I think.
Back after missing two weeks.. Blame an ultra packed work programme..So here goes..
- S3’s brain-computer implant passes 1000 days in situ. Small steps, but good news none the less.
- LOL, FYI and OMG make it into the Oxford English Dictionary.
- Meet the luxury edition iPad2, 24 carat gold, 53 diamonds and T-Rex bone shavings; all for a ‘paltry’ 5M pounds..
- Justin Taylor does an early ‘April Fool’s Day ruse about a letter to the Apostle Paul.
- Buying the right to fight a case for someone else?
- Goodluck Jonathan leads the latest poll? Interesting stuff in Nigeria..
Following on from the increasingly earlier start to first light, the fading of the rains and a strengthening sun, I had my first day this year of sleeping without heating. Spring truly is here then I guess….
Wohooo.. Sunny Days are here again..
Out of the blue, Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun came to mind this morning. I did a bit of googling and managed to find the full text of the Langston Hughes poem that inspired the title: A Dream Deferred.
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
The first few lines:
Making it into work on time each week day is a minor optimization problem for which I try to find a solution: maximize sleep and minimize time spent waiting at the bus stop, subject to time of arrival being 8.30am. These last few days, Mother Nature has compounded my little problem by unleashing an unwelcome trio of rain, gale force winds and the occasional fluffs of snow making my waits at the bus stop something I have not particularly looked forward to.
To do a Fernando Torres or not is the
million seven thousand dollar question facing me now. The situation can’t be more similar – a move across town to the old enemy, at a ‘wrong’ time, and a few kegs of bad blood spilt on both sides. Sometimes too much choice is bad…. sigh.
For the prompt Secret, at the Writer’s Island.. Better late than never.
Hand motions –
Quickening to a blur.
Straight faces –
Eyes fixed forward –
Pretending there is calm;
While like a seething, shifting mess
Behind bitter sweet memories –
Filed away, locked deep –
In the dank, dark recesses
Of a shattered hope.
The lord giveth, The lord taketh
We like homing pigeons return;
To the same shattered places.