Apr

22

Another Year, Again

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Today (21 April) is my birthday. I woke up at a friend’s house in Lagos. I don’t think I have mentioned it around here that I am currently in a town close to the Nigerian border with the Republic of Benin, to learn French. Well, I am. I decided to learn French for two reasons. If I am going to be an effective development worker, and I am thinking of working in West Africa, then I better have French. Apart from that, I am thinking of starting a PhD soon at my old University, the University of Ibadan, in Nigeria, and the area of research I am interested in – transborder trade – would mean that I would be working and interacting with a lot of French-speaking people – Nigeria is surrounded by French countries – then it would be highly important that I can speak French. So, I will be learning French for the next three months. I have a bit of French already but I have to make sure that I have more than a bit…. Maybe I should tell you a bit about the French School. Well, not really a bit, it is actually what I find most disturbing.

For some reasons, they have been admitting more people than they should, and so they don’t have accommodation for them. The accommodation provided for males is so inadequate that about 40 people have to share one large hall. Two people and I had to decide to make private arrangements for accommodation. So now, for the first time in years, I have to share a room with two people, Ben and Chuks. I guess you will be hearing about them in the next three months.

So it is my birthday. No bell rings, nobody sings, not even a little sound. What did I expect? I am gradually growing old, and there is no reversing it. I am 26 today, no job, not even one in sight. But then, I can take some joy in knowing that I haven’t been a complete failure. At least, I have lived my life from one classroom to another, and got two degrees in the process, and if things work out, I could be starting another one pretty soon.

Alright, some more some other time.

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Apr

18

Lost My Grandmother

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By 14.10 on April 5, Mrs. Abigail Kehinde Olugboji died. She was 87 years old. Those are the facts. Yea, my maternal grandmother died at the relatively old age of 87. Not many people would think that calls for any sorrow: she was old, wasn’t she? But for all those who have recorded the death of someone they were close to no age is just old enough. I was close to my grandmother. I grew up with her. I stayed with her from when I was a few months old till I was four. In other words, my first memories were made in her house. And from when I was about ten years old I spent every long vacation with her, and when vacations couldn’t be measured in terms of their length anymore I spent Christmas at her place, and together, we witnessed the New Year.

Her death was something I saw coming. No, not that she was sick, nor that she had defied the average life expectancy of Nigerians; she was weak. I think the first major warnings were from the tendons around one of her right knee. The tendon weakened so that her knee couldn’t support her leg and the leg bent outwards, making her legs form an unattractive K. Walking became difficult for her. Not that that was what killed her, but it was what made me realise that she was growing old. And since growing old always ends up in death, what else could I expect?

This leads to thoughts on old age. I can imagine how difficult growing old could be. I mean, you would constantly know that death is just around the corner, and that is in the best of cases, i.e. in cases where old age is not plagued by a myriad of illnesses. What I think should be important to the medical scientists isn’t merely keeping us alive but in good health. Before science leads to that we can help ourselves by living healthy. It might be a very sensible thing to leave cigarette and alcohol alone. Just don’t remind me of how stupid the preacher could be.

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