Enter the NMDB Naija Mega Diva Babe !

When she walks in to a party, fashionably late, there is no mistaking her importance at the event. You see, there is a way those who matter and know what's what with the latest head tie ,lace and all the attendant paraphernalia, carry themselves. It is an unspoken club and a statement as bold as the preening alpha females in a colony of primates. Every detail must be just so, and as I have said to various friends who have responded to my phrase with great mirth 'the kpim must match the kpam' .

This is a sample of the non- stop entertainment being played out in our lives minute by minute and so effortlessly, that we don't often pay attention to it.
Everything about the outfit speaks volumes, and the body language is unmistakably the same as a peacock strutting and fanning out it's tail feathers to display a stunning array of beautiful colours. 
Head held high, chest out, back exaggeratedly arched to extend butt out. The simple harmonic motion of the posterior cheeks gently swaying, eyes staring down everyone else from a high vantage point. Sight lines taking a quick scan, cursory look around the place to search out the lie of the land.
The eye brows are arched and raised so high as to give the appearance of being astonished. Or that may just be the outcome of last week's visit to the beauty parlour and the threading,waxing or tweezer artistry of her favourite beautician. With every considered step, she appears to take in a slow, deep breath, whilst simultaneously curling up the edges of her nostrils-eyes looking sharply from side to side. This looks like mild disgust or disdain, but it isn't, and is directed at no one in particular. It is just part of the body language required to make an impact. It is delivered very subtly indeed and accompanied by eyes that are glazed over to be totally inscrutable. Mouth pursed with sucked in cheeks together with a very gentle tilting of the head and a sort of slow-mo wagging of the chin, all accentuated and amped up to deliver 'the message'.

You better notice me jor , I AM all that!

If any one deigns to enter the shield and tries to offer a warm greeting within touching distance, God help them! And if they try to shake hands! A blunt 'How-wiryou' erupts! This curt and crisply delivered answer together with mouth movements that mirror that which you would get if you have been sucking lemons for a week. Her hand is extended for the briefest moment and rapidly withdrawn to resume it's particular place in one of her set body arrays. From the jewelry to the shoes and bag not to talk of the nail extensions, the aura and subliminal impressions push forth..
'Can't you see that I am among the glittering array of inter planetary stars?
I believe this is the very same spirit that inspired 'Lagbaja' to sing 'Oni gele yi skentele,.... oni gele yi skontolo' in which all accolades are directed at the head tie (gele) as a dazzling expression of pizzaz and elegance.

Once her high stepping Prada, Jimmy Choo or whatever designer clad feet set forth, with encrusted designs to match the elegant clutch, a series of automated events is set in motion. First of all the attendant paparazzi will leap forward to take the winning photos that will ensure bumper sales of their glossy magazines. Then the gorgeously dressed ushers of the event in order to show their recognition of Naija Mega Diva Babe (NMDB) will swoop in en mass and feign earnest servitude and show her to her seat.

The greeting-:
There will be lots of teeth on display, kowtowing, twisting, arms swung coyly backwards, lots of titles and accolades preferred forth as well. Fanning the blazing flames of her self aggrandizement to a roaring flame that consumes lesser mortals in it's path. Shamelessly ingratiating, the event ushers, pilot her to her seat and silence falls as she is seated.
Yes! The party is a success already, her place in the hierarchy of NMDB's is secure again as others outside the shield look on with the combined power of admiration, resentment and disgust.

Lara Cookey
Fly on the wall
At one high profile event in Lagos

MM1 blues- Arrival in Naija July 2014

Our chaotic exit out of MM1 ( Muritala Mohammed Airport, Lagos, Nigeria) immediately erased every stored notion of rest and calm that was acquired on our trip away. Being thrown together with our compatriots; NigerIans , male, female and children of all shapes and sizes and from a variety of ethnic groups, is a feat not meant for the feint hearted. Everyone was talking/shouting at the top of their lungs. Some were complaining and some were giving instructions, while some were patently irritated by having run away trolleys bump them in the ankles and calves.
A man in a luminous grey suit, which was so bright and reflective that it could pass as silver had on a chocolate coloured polo t shirt, and the shade of brown of his shoes were almost exactly the same shade. He had bold tribal marks on his cheeks and proffered his unsolicited opinions on how things could have been better organised. I could almost see sparks flying off his metallic suit, that is how much he churned out his irritation into the atmosphere.

We were just grateful that it was not raining because the airport management of MM1 are plastic, waterproof people from another galaxy, so they cannot see any reason to get passengers to their cars via covered walkways. We were just thrust into the open and more or less left to fend for ourselves in order to reach the buses provided to ferry us to the car park!
Had it been raining, I shudder to think how things would have gone. It had rained earlier in the day, and this accounted for the whipped chocolate cream that I had to step into. I acquired a muddy hem on my maxi dress like a tribal right of passage. There was just no way of hoisting the garment and manoeuvring three different kinds of hand luggage through the teeming crowd at the same time.
Interspersed in the melee were touts holding up wads of crisp one thousand Naira notes, offering to sell foreign exchange or just break down notes into smaller denominations. They had the same effect as blue bottle flies buzzing around my ears. My first instinct was to reach for a fly swatter. Both official and 'kabu-kabu' drivers bent on attracting passengers to hire their vehicles tried to intercept our egress by running alongside or stepping in front of us to offer their servIces. If the money changers were flies, these were annoying pests of another kind which I can't quite find the adequate description for.

Soon, it was all over and we were in our car, and speedily being transported home. My head was reeling, I was utterly exhausted and I haven't been more pleased to cross the threshold into my home in a long time. For now, all is well and I can quickly forget the MM1 experience. That is; until the next time I travel out and return. 

But when will this avoidable chaos end?

I love Naija

The titles of the books written and produced locally that i saw on a trip to the Tejuosho Market area, made me think about the way in which we are socialized in this country. It is often said that our behaviour is driven by our large population. I have heard the analogy that we are reacting like rats packed in cages, and therefore it is no wonder we are so aggresive as a default. The rats in various experiments, apparently turned on each other, and started a canibalistic feeding frenzy out of the sheer pressure created by their cramped living quarters. Their hostility to one another became a means of ensuring the survival of the fittest. The results of research into the behaviour of new born male rats and how high levels of testostorone drive them to start trying to eat each other when they are barely out of their mother's womb, is a topic for another day.
My own conclusions from the various experiments and how they relate to Nigerians is that we are very 'dog eat dog' in our approach to life and our actions are akin to the high testostorone induced behaviour of the new born 'male ratties' regardless of our gender.
Even our words of endearment will crack up the most stern faced individual.
'Look at your head like coconut', could be as much an insult as an expression of undying love.
A translation of a yoruba phrase that literally means ' if i slap you, you will instantly have a craving to eat all kinds of foods at once' tells me very clearly that we are graphic and dramatic in our speech and behaviour.
All the foregoing did not prepare me for the book titles i saw at a roadside bookshop, you know; the kind that has winnie the pooh sticker books nestled in any number of cheap, ghastly plastic toys, and all kinds of frightening looking text books targetted at children . The novels didnt inspire confidence either. There were titles like;
'Weep not mother'
'The ugly ones refuse to die'
' Amaka and the sacred fish'
All with suitably hideous illustrations on the book cover. It is food for thought, and fodder for great mirth as well. Ultimately, i can see that these inputs mesh together to unleash a great deal of innovation and entrepreuneural spirit in our country. There are many local champions, and pockets of excellence in almost every shpere of endeavour you can think of. My hope is that eventually, the pockets will spread, and there will be overlaps, and the remaining spaces inbetween will be infinitessimal, and we will have an upsurge of quality standards in this great nation.
So help us God!

Gele Skontolo, Skentele!!

Abstract Gele painting by Bie Cookey

"You're shouting Mum" my daughter said, but I was not aware that I was. We had gone to a local hair dressing salon to have our 'headgears' professionally tied. We were taking no chances with  the alternative. I have spent many sweaty moments struggling with my gele, only to get some unusual helmet that looks like a space age headpiece. The wedding we were attending, was one of those social events where I was not in the mood  for my sometimes avant guard/unique attire.

I did not have any special instruments to measure the decibels of sound that were plummeting my ear drums, but was aware of being temporarily deaf. I was totally unable to hear what anyone in the room was saying, because the sound that had captured 100% of my auditory capabilities was like no other I know. That did not stop me from trying to carry out a conversation, albeit mimicking a town crier's skill in shouting.
That mix of a crackling sound, a chunky metallic zipper being yanked closed and open, several people gritting their teeth at once, five finger nails scraping down a black board, and many angle grinding machines all at once! This is the best way I know how to describe the sounds entering my ear from having my Gele tied. By the time we were done, I looked every bit the elegant Lagos lady in traditional garb from head to toe, but I had such a blinding headache.  I took a couple of painkillers; only so that my smiles at the function would not periodically decay into grimaces.  I am convinced now that a neurological exam after this experience would produce interesting brain waves and pathways, but I was up for it. Never mind that we had to undo it and re- tie it because it was just too tight at first. The Gele was so tight that my eyebrows were dragged sharply upwards, giving me the look of an astonished , beleaguered bird.
When we walked into the venue, an imaginary 'Lagbaja' was all up in my head singing 'Oni gele yi-Skentele! Skontolo. We picked our way through the crowd carefully, my steps were in elegant consonance with the song in my head.
It was like show time! A parade, an exhibition of a rare species.
All other Gele's poised aloft, were singing their own songs in perfect refrain........

As we say in Naija ....'Yanga get pain' but I think it was all well worth it.

Take a deep breath- Obama is in the white house

This is a blog I wrote nearly four years ago, on inauguration day 20th January 2009. Now that Barack Obama has won again, i thought I should publish it.

 I had to consciously take deep diaphragmatic breaths. Goose pimples stood up on my arms like desert sand grains and I was at a loss as to whether to scream or shout. My eyes were glued to the television set and in the back of my mind I muttered babbled prayers of gratitude.
My mind was in a whirl and the overload was just intolerable as I became empty of known ways to express myself.
So this is it, the 'yes we can' man has been inaugurated and Barrack Obama will live in the white house. It is as though this is a figment of the world's collective imagination and all I want to do is pinch myself. How often can we know with unquestionable certainty that we are in the midst of a significant unfolding history. How can we fully appreciate the future impact on our world that we will have due to the outcomes of what has happened today?
I remember sitting in our family lounge having my hair braided and watching tv when the first plane plunged into the World Trade Centre. A momentous time in America and the world's history. I remember my words to my mother who was with me at the time. 'This is not an act of terrorism, it is an act of war', meanwhile the scrolling headlines blazing after the 'breaking news' title was reporting the possibility of a terrorist attack. That event heralded a profound change in travel and global security in general. This awareness of momentous, history defining events, brought a few others to remembrance.

When the final verdict of the infamous OJ. Simpson trial was given, I was in a mall in Halifax , Nova Scotia buying a bagel. I stood in front of the bagel stand watching a tv nearby and scarcely noticed that the mall had almost stood still in front of all the various televisions as people waited and watched with keen interest or listened to a radio broadcast. I remember feeling disappointed that he was let off and I remember how strangers struck up conversations and shared ideas according to which camp they belonged. I remember the crusty deliciousness of my bagel and the buttery after taste and the concerns I nursed as I wondered what effect this delectable wonder would have on my hips and waistline. I remember reflecting that the bagel contained as much dough as a loaf of bread and all this a single adult portion. Why is everything mega sized in the geographic zone called North America?

Fast forward a few years to the time when Bill and Hilary Clinton visited Ghana. The excitement in town was palpable, and we started seeing strange looking people about town some weeks prior to their arrival. I guess they were the advance party/security detail. By the time we had navigated the newly created one way systems and avoided all the closed off streets and security barricades, my eldest daughter and I missed seeing President and Hilary Clinton speeding by in their armored car down the Kanda-Nima highway . We were just in time to see their tail lights, but not them. However we did catch the excitement of the throng of adults and children waving flags as they flanked the roads. The headmistress of my daughter's school and some teachers in a bid to keep a keen eye on the children and catch a sight of the Clintons themselves, were seated on chairs in the central divide of the dual carriage way. I remember laughing inwardly at the absurdity of their watch station. They did their level best to keep order whilst obviously bursting to go amok themselves. Our disappointment at missing the main show, was partly minimized by the sight of air force one kro-kro eye as we say in Naija or filli-filli to be more culturally appropriate to Ghana. She was parked majestically on the tarmac and a gaggle of us pinned our faces like convicts in cages to the wire mesh, all wide eyed and making various noises of appreciation. Air force one was certainly a precious bird as we spotted various security officers at vantage points on terra firma, and was that an American marine standing on top of the control tower?

An estimated one million human beings are reported to have thronged the streets and lawns around and leading up to the White House to see the world's premier family process to this unsurpassed, un-duplicated piece of real estate, their new home. I am absolutely fascinated just thinking about the planning and logistic effort that this kind of event undoubtedly generates. How even as we watched the carcade preceded by its formidable arrow of shiny white outriders, the Bush's ready packed bags were being relocated and replaced by the Obama's. The idea that the procession may have been so slow to give more time to the baggage exchange effort set up various thoughts in my mind. In my house, I often joke to my house guests that whatever is left behind is automatically inherited by me! What will the Bush's accidentally leave behind? Ex presidential preferential jam in the fridge or a particular brand of loo roll or what?

I just imagined the discourse going on between key players and 'go to' people , whispered over discreet radio phones. Verbal status reports as to the progress of the baggage and how that relates to the overall anticipated timing of each forward activity. I imagined five minute updates going something like "30% as at oh, dot, dot, dot hours. Dot, dot, dot seconds, please be advised that we are now 3% in excess of scheduled ETA, over!" Or some thing such as that.
The CNN situation room was another matter all together as we all looked at various collages of real time photos being sent in and zoomed in to see various things being drawn to our attention. Oh here is Arnold Schwarzenegger or some other celebrity in the crowd. As well as a comparative analysis of satellite shots of the lawns around the White House from two weeks ago as compared to today. Plan views of swarms of ants were apparently crowded throngs of people! Ah, was it only I that was gob smacked or is it not amazing how the presenter's fingertips were jabbing his giant screen and every poke conjured up all kinds of images form the ground, and we were told some were shot from satellites in outer space! How is this different from what we used to think was wizardry/ sorcery? Hmm, thank God they have stopped stoning witches and sorcerers!

I found the proceedings most engaging, and my excitement was high. It was so lovely to see the Obama children as well, such beautiful girls, and Michelle's power dressing was tops.

Eventually, I sank into a deep sleep, my breathing now evened out more from sheer exhaustion. Eventually my mind could catch up to the unfolding events and all the excitement. Eventually, my psyche began in some measure to embrace the dawn of a new era as a reality and there was no need to pinch myself. Eventually, the extracted O2 from my deep breaths registered to my brain and the world was suddenly a better place.

Crazy Shoes

My grandmother used to make a full English breakfast over an open metal grill powered by wood logs. The grid left attractive sear marks on the sausages, bacon and toast. (These current celebrity chefs are not a patch on my Granny!)  Her Naija soups were made in black earthenware pots. Whatever she made, had the unique and tantalising aromas from the burning wood impressed upon it. I have never since then tasted grilled bacon, sausages, or toast that have the unique dimensions of flavour that came from my Grandma's kitchen. Neither have any Naija soups tasted like hers, which always had a rich, rounded taste and aroma, without any stock cubes added. Ingredients that needed blending were ground on a traditional grinding stone which consisted of a large oval slab of granite and a smaller oblong piece, just the right size for grasping with a pair of hands aligned side by side. I am convinced this method of blending, pre-mingled the ingredients before they ever came together in the pot, and contributed to stock cube free richness.


Another culinary accessory that I remember was a large brown earthenware pot with a lid that was kept in one corner of her bedroom, in which drinking water was stored. It always tasted cool, and somehow never took on the room's warmer ambient temperature.
I was totally enthralled by her stories of how she traded in bolts of fabric between Akure and Benin City, and how her journeys were made on foot, usually in the company of other women traders. She told me that it took a long time, and how she packed food and basic cooking utensils, and how meals were made en route. They lit fires to sleep next to in the forest, whenever their journeys demanded they took a break at night. Apparently, there were no roads as such, and many routes were footpaths. To my surprise, she said it was common to walk these vast distances barefoot. You might be wondering why I've started up with tales of my Grand mamma. Well, I just remembered her when I came across various articles talking about the benefits of running and walking bare feet. Grandma  didn't make any high faluting statements about it, it was just the natural thing to do then.

This made me search for images of bare foot running shoes, and oh my word, the most weird and wonderful images came up.

I went on further to search for 'crazy shoes' and I was blown away by the results. I just had to share them.
Enjoy!
Feast your eyes on crazy shoes and let your imagination run riot if you dare!

This pair here that looks like a lady's manicured feet with painted toenails are just bizarre, I find them both abhorrent and delightful.

You don't need to worry about being slipped up on an unseen banana peel, either by accident or by the malicious intent of your unseen enemies, you can make your own slithery steps in these

Those with more than a passing interest in food will be pleased with this lot. They can be used as part of a new dieting strategy. You wear your food on your feet all the time, and get your brain and psyche used to seeing food that you cant eat. Thereby allowing yourself to salivate, but curbing all desire to eat by satisfying yourself with just another look at your feet!
Mind you, I can see quite a few veggies in these sandwich flip flops, so I hereby declare them to be healthy.

 I guess you could also claim to be from Bolognia, and wear these as your own take on 'national attire' to the next diplomatic gathering. You might just start off another world war because Italy might take offense. Unless of course you are Italian, then you would either be thought of as just having poor taste in shoes, or acclaimed as the latest hotshot in unique design thought

The best way to campaign against the wanton consumption of red meat which has been blamed for a long list of health problems, is to wear these. I am wondering if they come with an appropriate smell as well. In which case, the campaign will be very short lived especially in a neighbourhood with many stray dogs. Then again, I would advise against wading into shark infested waters. The smell may also attract flies which would add another dimension to this design, rather like sequined or diamante embelishments

I think I would just write off a lady wearing these as 'a wet fish', I would try my level best to get her to take the 'scales from her eyes.' Nothing like a pair of sardines or barracuda on your feet to skew your perspective on life.

This is the definitive answer to the problems of the 'vertically challenged', In my language (Yoruba) these would be called
Onile gogoro- which literally means tall building or sky scraper. You might well start swaying and resemble the leaning tower of Piza. I would take out an insurance policy before mounting these!

Never get your feet stuck in that annoying bubble gum , ever again. I imagine there is a built in chewing gum sensor rather like the repulsion between like poles. I wager that it is the best way out of a sticky situation, since you would be wearing one of your very own.

While we are on the subject of bubble gum and stretchy things, you can catapult yourself into the limelight wearing this sturdy pair of slippers.

No one will ever be able to cheat you at the check out counter with this self service maths calculator, gadget-shoe-like thingy. if you jump up and down you can make your own music as well which makes this a two for the price of one, value for money item.

Either you will offend dog lovers who will cross the street when they see you coming, or dogs themselves will. This will certainly set some dogs off barking wildly, and whimpering alternately, as they become confused as to what is going on. Take care to watch out for aggression from the smarter dogs.These should be worn by a dog psychologist as a way of increasing demand for their services, and oh i forgot to mention that you will feel extra stable on eight instead of two legs.

No one can accuse you of being a heel.

Eh? What coral reef? Oh these things on my feet are my own personal cluster of temples. One or two of them have genies living in them and I can call on them at any time. The others whistle all by themselves especially when I am running in the wind. I don't stay in one place long enough for barnacles to attach themselves, these things here are more temples at an earlier growth stage.

Order out of chaos

I spent a couple of hours with an elderly relative today and took it upon myself to de-clutter her dressing table while we chatted about all sorts of things and made loud comments about the programme that was showing on her TV. We ended up with a full carrier bag of junk, mainly wonky plastic bangles, several dead padlocks, twisted old ropes and strings, old keys, parts of things that could not be identified, as well as an empty manicure set, not to talk of a defunct battery operated nail grooming set from my many, many years back who's main parts were missing and the emery pad was disintegrating into powder! Just before this, I just about restrained her from jumping into the bath at 4pm to wash her hair because she said the centre was itching and she felt hot. So she agreed to spray the scalp with one of her myriad hair things and scratched it vigorously with one of about 12 gnarled plastic combs. She took my suggestion to postpone hair washing till she could go to the hairdressers the following day. However, I rescued a tuft of artificial hair from one tall beautiful green ceramic bowl with an elegant pointed cover. Under it was a relic of a suitcase strap. You will be surprised at the kind of stuff that we keep. After a while, they just become part of the scene in our lives and drop completely out of the radar of our attention.

On the table, there were also 3 bottles of that methylated dusting powder -you know the white canister made out of tin with brown skewed writing that has been produced since Mungo Park's time! She explained that there were three because one of her grandchildren might need one since she has skin issues too. With her provision of this emergency skin remedy service, who needs a dermatologist and prescription skin treatment?!

However, I was unable to remedy whatever she had done to her telly's colour balance that tinged all the images with a lurid orange, but I deleted her messages from DSTV as far back as nine months ago.

We had a good time and she did not let me leave before pressing into my hands a three pack set of body butter, vanilla, almond ,and I forget what. It is so lovely how we do that in our culture; give random unsolicited gifts -just because

When I first got married, I played an unspoken game with my hubby . Every time hubby straitened up an object to lie parallel to the centre table's edges, I would deliberately move it and make it slightly skewed. He would constantly keep straightening it up, and I would chuckle inwardly. Well, what can I now say about myself, now that I have become unable to leave someone else's cluttered dressing table alone? Why have I now re arranged her stuff in neat rows? She was very pleased, don't get me wrong, and grateful for the new look I gave it. However, to be honest, I realised that my motivation went far beyond wanting to help her out. I am sure now that I may have become 'OCD' about certain things.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in it's mild form appears to be on the increase. Is this a way in which we as humans are reacting en masse to the uncertainty and disorder in our world?

Was I in some way trying to arrange those things out of a compulsive  desire to bring order out of chaos, and why is it that I could not leave the mess alone as it was? But then again, is that not what God did at creation-bring order out of chaos? No! I am not looking for lame excuses-honest!

Dash 8 Air Travel

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I was seated in the fourth row on board a twin-prop air plane parked on the hot, steamy tarmac at Kotoka International airport, Ghana, awaiting our departure to Lagos. Settled into the cosy comfort of the Dash 8 aircraft, I gazed out of my window looking past its huge propeller blades. I found myself right in the centre of various images and scenarios that an unfortunate exit out of the window into the propeller blades presented. It wasn't nice. Since there was very little physical distance between the propeller and me, I marvelled at the fact that, what separated me from a gruesome end was a double sheet of glass and the fuselage's outer skin. Man's inventions never cease to amaze me, and it is just completely inconceivable, the extremes in safety that this situation put me in. Seated in cushioned comfort on the one hand ;lights, air con, and service call controls an arm’s reach away, and then, sneezing distance away, a giant blender blade, whirring at high speed.

My train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the volume and tone of an obviously displeased man. 

“Rubbish! Nonsense! you people have come with your rubbish! I paid for first class! what do you mean its free seating!?” The tall, elegant, elderly, Naija businessman with an angular face, a trace of long ago tribal marks, and shiny bald head, yelled. His vocal capacity was such that we all knew for sure that his lungs functioned perfectly, and he had no voice projection issues. It was a minute or two before the owner of the lungs which powered the bellowing voice, arrived through the entrance door. The cabin steward stood at attention, his welcoming smile frozen in place now, and rapidly becoming distorted shortly afterwards as it began to decay. He had to remain pleasantly smiling for everyone else, but his internal organs were squirming as they reacted to the verbal arrows. "Good evening sir, you're welcome on boar...." he carried bravely on

"Rubbish! You people have come with your nonsense! I paid for first class!" was the reply the poor cabin steward got in return. I was amused, and there was more to come.

The Naija businessman sat down heavily in the aisle seat in the first row, brewing, stewing and bubbling out his anger, frustration and irritation into the atmosphere. He was in 'dress down mode', no bespoke tailored $5,000 dollar suit, but a crisp tan coloured, linen/ seer sucker mix shirt, buttoned down the front. It had a small lapel collar and at the hemline, there were little side nicks at each seam, creating a stylish detail. The casual shirt was close fitting enough to give a sharp silhouette but baggy enough to just skim the high point of his protruding belly, giving him a slimmer look than would at first be evident.

The poor cabin steward, (let's call him Albert )stepped forward to take (let's call him) Mr. Adesina's swish, obviously real leather ,designer hand baggage which was as large as the owner's ego. "Please let me take that sir, it is too big for the overhead cabin, we have to check it into the hol...."

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" Arrant nonsense! I paid for first class!..... rubbish!, how can I pay for first class and you say I cannot keep my hand luggage with me! You people and your rubbish! I paid for first class! You have come again with your nonsense!" And these kind of volcanic verbal complaints went on for a while. Meanwhile, Albert was fast becoming a facial muscle contortionist. He did a jolly good job of smiling courteously at everyone else at exactly the same time, he smiled at Mr. Adesina with a show of deep concern as well.

A very large lady with an enormous pair of chests came panting on to the aircraft long after others had boarded, muttering to herself, but very loudly. Her various wraps, flailing sleeves and unravelling head scarf sort of floated in, after, and about her as though miraculously held up by gusts of wind. She had what looked like a small sofa hanging on her shoulder, it's weight dragging her ample shoulder downwards, while her mobile phone was hoisted over her ear with the free arm. She talked to the person on the phone as though addressing the people standing at the back of a large gathering one thousand strong. It was all in Yoruba, and a progress report stating her arrival on the aircraft. The free seating issue presented problems as she struggled up and down the aisles, trying to decide where to sit. She relinquished her 'hand baggage' to Albert to be put in the hold quite readily, while Mr. Adesina who had piped down a bit, was still proclaiming bitterly, but in a lowered volume, how he had been short changed.

Shortly afterwards, I noticed how with each bewildered looking face that got on board, there was a chorus of "it's free seating o!" from various people near the front. It was as though, Albert and his colleagues had instant co-workers. Unofficial cabin crew, of an indeterminate number, and had not signed in the duty rota for the flight. It is so typical of Naija's to take control of such situations. It was that unity we can drum up instantly, something I have witnessed at play again and again. With the underlying need to process the potentially de stabilising effects of yet another public service gaff, being helpful to others as they joined in the predicament and verbalising were vital tools which assisted folks in settling down faster.

Soon after, the man who sat on the seat right next to the emergency exit was being given his briefing by Albert. This reminded me of another flight I had been on months previously, where the air staff's similar script was constantly being interrupted by a passenger's bold interjections and prophetic assertions.....

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I  watched as an air steward began to deliver his memorised lines with flair and ease, but his training could not have prepared him for what ensued. It went something like;

Cabin crew:"Sir, in case of emergen-" He was cut off sharply and abruptly.

Passenger: "Not on this flight!'....

Cabin crew: "If we are flying over water....." he was cut off again

Passenger: "I SAID, not on this flight!" This sharp retort delivered with an angular tilt of the head, inquiring and determined.

Cabin crew:"You turn this door handle in..."

Passenger:" I said it will NOT HAPPEN in Jesus name!" He barked back with a potent combination of anger, strong determination and passion. By this time, his eye balls were right on stilts, challenging the air steward to step down from what must have come across to him as 'pessimistic reports'. In the meantime, the lady seated next to me rocked back and forth like an emotionally disturbed child, mini bible in hand, her lips moving rapidly, muttering prayers for the success of the flight. Her babbling was mostly undecipherable but every now and then, it would crescendo with a gush of repeated, laboured exhaling and end with a loud "DJEE-SSUS!"

I was immediately nervous.

This did not bode well for the flight's safety. Perhaps this was a sign that I was remiss with my Godly connections, and therefore  had missed out somehow on the insight that prompted these outbursts.The cabin crew's automatically spewed out lines were eventually completed even though in competition with the objecting passenger's 'hallelujah interjections'. The effect was hilarious and it also prolonged the allotted time given for this standard briefing.

No other people can collectively have as marked an effect on aircrew's behaviour, scheduled flight times and safety procedures as us, Naijas!

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Many years back, when I was a secondary school student returning to London after one of my school holidays in Lagos, I was on a flight which was stopped just after it started to taxi for take off. I kid you not, we had a live chicken- a poor distressed bird, squawking and running up and down the cabin aisle. Airport security was summoned mid runway, to get it off the aircraft. I do not know how the bird got past security checks!

Those were the days when your mother could walk you right up to the door of the aircraft just because the customs official had seen you crying. Now, your belt and shoes are demanded of you and the metal detector settings in the body scan doorway can pick up the metal of the fillings in your teeth or the underwire of your bra. I hereby warn the young men sagging their trousers as a current fashion trend to be especially careful when reaching this point. I imagine if they raise their arms to be body searched with the handheld probe after relinquishing their belts, they could with all probability find themselves standing in the security queue in their underwear. Their trousers having taken a quick gravitational dive due south. Meanwhile their baggy trouser's only restraining mechanism being at that point on its way through scanning paradise.

Easily accessible foreign media has made the dress style of 'sagging' acceptable to our youth, and a valid form of self expression. I wonder if most of our youth knew the genesis of it, they would  be so readily associated with it. Apparently, in the U.S prisons, trousers issued to inmates generally have  a huge waist size. There is no reference to the wearer's actual size, one size fits all. As well, so that they do not harm each other, or top themselves, they are not allowed to wear belts. So, of course, for most inmates, their trouser waists are too big. What is the connection with all this? The rappers and similar artists who are now glamorised and in the public eye have had some prison experience or other. They have somehow incorporated this into their dress style. Not surprising at all since this is the reality of their lives, but how is this any of the majority of our youth's?

Media, entertainment and the arts can press forward quite effectively, the transfer of socio- cultural norms and the subliminal conquests they achieve are faster and more pervasive than a million consulates filled with diplomats, attending cocktails, sipping vino and making speeches with veiled statements. Go to the far corners of the Caribbean,  where Nollywood films are easily available. This is the trend throughout West Africa where these movies are sold on many street corners . In fact don't go far, step across to Ghana where, 'tofiakwa!', a phrase meaning 'God forbid' in Igbo, a Nigerian language, has become common parlance. This now common slang emanated from these prolific Nollywood films.

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The experience of air travel has been drastically transformed into a series of impositions of our personal space and liberties.

I  felt at high risk of picking up some fungal infection or other from the gummy floor I was forced to walk on with bare feet once, while my shoes travelled separately in a plastic tray through a scanning machine.  

The current requirements for one's travel attire and hand baggage would match the parameters for someone entering a mental institution as a self harmer. Such are the restrictions now placed on us by the stringent rules promoting anti-terrorism. Your thirst for even plain water must, according to the regulations be quenched by no more than 100 ml of water. I suppose this protects the society as a whole, but so many basic personal freedoms have been taken away as well.  Sometimes it feels like being herded like cattle. Our lives are gradually losing depth and dimension in some spheres, so much for the better quality of life that technology and modernity promised. But I digress........

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Now back to my Dash Eight experience.
When we landed at Muritala Mohammed airport, it was far away from the finger which would bring us into the airport building.  Yes,it was a relatively long taxi to our final stop, but that was no excuse for our behaviour. As usual, my compatriots grew too impatient for us to reach our final stop. A cacophony of noise ensued as various mobile phone ring tones, volume enhanced phone conversations in different languages, a variety of eyebrow raising attitudes oozing into the atmosphere, and shuffling feet, all competed with the plane engine's wind down noise. The on board announcer's efforts to welcome us to Lagos were completely drowned out as well.

Madam 'wind gust' was on again in loud Yoruba giving her status report, ear cocked, twinkling eyes smiling into the phone....

"ello, ello, ello?, heeelooooo!, 'ello, 'ello?"

I wondered why she did not wait till we had stopped.

"Ello! We are here now, after this, we will get down and get our luggage." Hardly earth shattering info that could not wait a few more minutes!

There after there was an eruption, a chorus of various impatient sounds. The clink- clunking sounds of seat belts being un fastened, metal buckles hissing against sturdy ,woven fabric straps, people shuffling and jumping out of their seats. The air heavily laden with anticipation. Many were making a mad dash for the overhead lockers as though there was a known but unseen serial, hand luggage thief prowling about. The air steward's shoulders sagged , he exhaled heavily and looked exasperated.  He was still seated in his jump seat and strapped in. He did not stand but remained seated and quickly leaned forward to grab the announcer's hand set.

"Please remain seated and strapped in, the fasten seat belt sign is still on!" 

O my people! They looked at him as though he was a kill joy and speaking a strange language at that. By the time we had come to a halt, there were about half a dozen people crammed into the doorway area, itching to get out.

No one had time for any of the welcome pleasantries, for safety procedures or any such thing. The impatient twitchiness, anxiety laden behaviour and aggressive hunt down continues. A people's behaviour governed more by their experience and circumstances and not at all tempered by restraint and considered choice.

But as we say in Naija, 'na condition wey bend crayfish' (A clever Naija saying in pidgin English which translates to:Life happens)

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Lara Cookey

Travel on  a Dash 8 aircraft

Nov 2009