Tuesday, 19 April 2011

ME, MY, I - Vs- ‘World’



Politics. Religion. Ethnicity. Culture. Ethics. Philosophy.



Why the fuck does MY opinion matter (to you)?!

Oh Yes! I said FUCK…
…not to insult or connote annoyance.
Rather... just cuz of 'freedom of speech'.

Which need I expatiate... doesn't give u another leeway or avenue to think you can sum ME, MY religion, tribe, culture parents, etc. up cuz in your 'justifiable' tinkering you may happen to conclude that a couple of jaded stereotypes you've never experienced, on diff axes, firsthand (in order to draw out a reasonable hypothesis) are things that make this up!!
*pointing up and down head and heart- location of the MIND*


WRONG!!
I might be Mr. and Mrs. A's son from a particular geographical co-ordinate with certain beliefs and morals and preferences of one material/pseudo material thing over the other  and belonging to a singular faith.... All that doesn't mean I am those things in entirety. *(entirety- total and whole...just so its clear)
All these things...associations of which I’m ashamed to associated with... Cuz of their PURITY and PRESTIGE. 

*what were you thinking?*




Thots in MY head
Premises I make
Conclusions I draw
Duels with MY conscience
Actions I take
Stands I affirm and uphold

Those things are unique to ME and only ME despite having 'manuals' from MY nascency (to adulthood) which I was expected to dogmatically follow... And 'models' to mimic i.e.

I've been doing ME!
Making MY mistakes. Learning from others and the mirror enshrouding this *points to self AGAIN!*.
Carving MY path.
Dilly-dallying, contemplating, and procrastinating about MY all.
Living MY life!
Envisioning MY end.

Nascency to Expiry


For whenever I do or say something that raises your eyebrow, OR turns ur stomach, OR drops your jaw, dilates your pupils, OR gives you the urge to hug Me, kiss Me, OR even straight out KILL Me...

Don’t cast ME amongst any mundane, meek, and insipid statistic, demography, or phylum.

Do ME! NOT the generality.

For this 'I' is MY initial...

and I’m one of a fucking kind!


Be perspicacious…
Use an evenhanded scale to weigh people, circumstances, events, and surely ME, MYSELF, and  MY DUALITY DUEL.

I'm ME.
I’m human. I’m a man. I’m a Father-figure.
I’m an Uncle. I’m a brother. I’m a cousin. I’m a son. I'm a grandson.
I’m a nephew. I’m a friend. I’m a confidante. I’m an Inamorato. I’m a neighbor.
I’m an African. I’m a Nigerian. I’m a Northerner. I’m a Nomad. I’m Fulani. I’m a Muslim.





I’m a lot of things u see…. Why concentrate one aspect then?




*drops pen*







Nb-censored version will be available when i coolu temper... or NOT!

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

GYMING THE GYM!

DAY 1




Woke up a couple of times before finally deciding to break free from the bondage of my comfy mattress and finding out the driver’s schedule for the day.
11.45am

I hop to the bq (boy's quarters abi na baskwata) and ask…

We set it for 12.30pm

The idea was to be there (gym) till a lil past 2pm when all the kids shuda’ve been picked up from school so that we all go home uno momento.

My lady caused a lil delay the type that I no fit complain about cuz it was worth every sec.

*sigh*
Scene changes- the usual Kano traffic, buses, yellow picantos, okada, yan kura, bicycles, hawkers, followed by useless, lethargic and constipated looking leeches in uniforms (orange to i-used-to-be-black) and political touts. The daily 'sight'

The trip didn’t last long before we swerved off Zaria Rd and... voila! There we were. GYM!
Or should i say pseudo-pseudo-gym.
“Peace be  upon u!” I say as I maneuver my way onto the elevated courtyard and into the ‘hall’… there I see DAKTA (doctor i.e. that's what they call him cuz he outta focus photo-chronic frames uses the vocabulary of an average primary school kid's Physical Education (PE) syllabus)

I met him going about doing his useful effizy-marketology (a coined neologism for this very purpose), which I would expatiate to mean iyayi, barazana, ban wuri na iya and showing all the pot-bellied not-so-pregnant men and women who’ve forgotten what they’re navel, feet, and of course groins look like, how to fill his infamous ‘form’ (FOM as he wud pronounce it) as he casually heightens his enlightened doctoral fa├žade by confusing the masses with an acronym I’m sure he picked up from a health column- BMI!

"Kasan akwai abunda ‘muke’ cewa BMI, wato baddi masss indesk.... Da shi muke fahimtar cewa *points to the wall* ko mutum is nomal, obaweight, obese 1, obese 2, ko obese 3." *all this time he’s been pointing to each of his poor imitations of the real thing.

Translation- "You know there is what WE call BMI, that is Body mass index... It's with this that we deduce whether a person is normal, obese 1, obese 2, or obese 3"

In the mean time I just found me a seat tried to block out all his ramblings of wishful success in conquering the minds and bodies of the average not-so-educated hausa person with my phone… was checking out my timeline not the twitter kind. Our kind. No questions pls.

He obviously interrupted that when he pointed at me and furthered tried to use ME as a marketing tool...
“yanzu ka ga wanan bawan Allan, shi nashi daga asibit aka ce mishi ya zo wato shi zaka gani a form an sa MEDIIKALLI REKOMENDEAD.”

Translation- "...now you see this fellow here, he advised by the hospital to come here. That's what you would see on the form as Medically Recommended"
The poor guy who was obviously sold by then, as he muttered in “ai dama dolle sai da irinku dakta, ku kuka san yadda mutun zai rinkayi ba tareda yayi wani rauni ba…”

Translation- "of course it has to be people like you doctor, you're are the people that know how a person would go about it without getting hurt..."

In my mind I was like-
"Get ur shit (18month pregnancy i.e) and get out so can fill THE FORM, pay the man, and start cycling and working on my own 2wks pregnancy before downing some hard food! :p"

Well… they did.
Now I’m left in d care of dakta and his form, and boy was his handwriting like snake shit.

*'we' start filling the form, and by 'we' i mean he*

Points to name- I said Ibrahim
Surname- I say Saeed, ‘S’ ‘A’ ‘E’ ‘E’ ‘D’ i go about spelling for him… All the sudden he interjects- “haba mallam ni fa bahaushe ne" (loosely translating to  "i am a hausa man! why the spelling")

But of course, he’s already spelt it as 'SAID' (not even an apostrophe imagine!?) and I couldn't let it slide.
I corrected him, but then he wouldn't let it slide… he went “Su'eeed..?! da turanci kenan!?” (he intentionally mispronounced the name as remarked at it being the English pronunciation to an Arabian name.. i know)

"Nope! Da larabci dai ko…" of course here yours truly (me) cleared his throat and using all my cool I muscled my Arabian larynx and said "SsAEEEdD".

He just gave me 'stare of defeat' and moved on. (i kinda chuckled within by the way :)

Age-
Sex-
*Just got interrupted by this nameFULL network… an sms from the-mobile-network-used-to-be-known-as-zain.
Content-woman busted cheating on her husband on national radio. Send CHEAT to 33something something (I deleted the text) and get the link to listen the radio chat. Cost N75 per sms.*

I know right!

Back to the FOM
He suggested I go to his assistant who would take the measurements, but I told him that I kinda I knew my stats if that would help… at end we opted for verification

Height- I said 172.5cm happened to be 175cm
Weight- 66-67kg cause I cant put my full weigh on my left leg happened to be 66kg
**BMI**--- haha! He asked me soooooo in the moment thinking I wud falter or stutter. But noooo I was like, causually of course, "its around that 22.3 or .5."

He was disappointed of course. I wasn’t. lolz

Size- the woman measured my abdomen/stomach region… 34 inches. Don’t worry working on it.
Address- u don’t really expect me to write that here do you?

Being himself he couldn’t help it… he had to have me tick some boxes stating what I want to do/achieve there
There was the MEDIKALLI REKOMMENDEAD. Check.
BOUDI BILLDING. CHECK
STRESS MGT. HUH?
But I didn’t burst his bubble.

He then asked to come into his office so he could take my VP… OH sorry. BP. Blood fressure. Oh sorry. Blood pressure. :p
110/60
"Baka da froblem anan."

Some other boxes
Asthma. No
Rheumatism. No
Diabetes. No
Hypertension.
Right then I snuck a question that seemed to have unhinged him, hey I couldn’t help it. Am curious or is it KURIOUYUS like that, “dakta wai ni me specialty dinka ne? (translating to doctor what is ur specialty?) is it physiotheraphy, physical therapist (which is the same thing, just wanted to confuse him), or...."
A ah… *he had this pathetic look on his face pretending to be looking for some unfilled part of the form*. "FEEZIKAL EDUCATION ne."

Am like "ohhh ohkay.." *i swear i nearly burst out laughing*
Are you paying in full now or deposit. Full.
Thank you. Count it first.
From then on it was downhill.

His igbo assistant. A yellow woman who wore a football jersey and tight jeans insteada the sportswear she should’ve.

I cycled for 30mins alternating the tension
Worked on the abs for 15
The shin, calf, and quadriceps for 20min

In between i asked her... "what kinda food should i be eating for muscle gain?"
she looked at me and said.... "do you used to eat swallow food?" *in verbatim*
"yeah i do"
"then you should schop fufu"
"oh okayyyy"

#zatakasheni

Did my biceps and triceps.
Then finally an all rounder before calling the driver for their status quo… 2.15pm. I’m out.
OH SHIT! I FORGOT TO STRECTH…. :-O