No Room for the Troubadour

Author:Yusuf Danesi [By: ] [Bookmark] [Tell a friend] [Print]

    • I found that my proposed host in London last summer had a full house but he had arranged with another childhood friend of ours to accommodate me during my 30 day- stay. My new host’s wife, a Jamaican, was simply wonderful. Of course I was sensitive too by willingly giving them a breathing space such as spending one week in Kent, five nights in Manchester, one night in Thamesmead and another night in Bromley. So in the real sense, I spent only two weeks with my primary hosts in Catford. Everywhere I found myself, I was treated like a king! My friend’s Jamaican wife never knew me from Adam, never heard of me and never thought she would ever meet anyone like me until I happened along.

    I could not have seen every of my friends as most of them would have loved but promised that I would winter with some of them. For not being able to repeat my stay in Kent this winter, my good friend deemed it fit to punish me by asking me to go and wait for him in Woolwich Arsenal from where we would have gone to East London for dinner preparatory to my departure for Nigeria the next day. I would never forget the experience because I was not fortunate enough to be wearing my hand gloves. Not even a stop-gap trip via a bluewater bus to Bexleyheath as directed by my friend courtesy of his mobile phone produced him. Not intending to stand out in the freezing cold weather, I decided to do some emergency shopping at Asda while I waited for him.

    He never showed up and that was not a good experience for me. Before then I had made a five-day trip out of my Bromley abode not only to encourage my friends in West, North and North West London, but also to allow my hosts to experience space in my absence. I enjoyed my stay at Hounslow Central, Isleworth and Brentford, all in the West. I was also spiritually fulfilled as I worshipped with my Church’s branch in Osterley on the eve of 2007. David Dairo and Bola Aburime were outstanding because they would not let their current financial situation deter them from giving me a treat; courtesy of the duo, I visited the History/Science Museum in South Kensington and ended up dining at Burger King, Victoria Train Station amidst heavy downpour.

    I remember mailing my schedule to all my prospective hosts and even spoke with them before embarking on the journey. I also do not remember anyone of them declining to give me a good reception. I was therefore shocked when the chap I was visiting at Edmonton Green broke the news that his wife said I could not sleep! But I sent emails, discussed on the phone, etc and the impression I got was that I was free to come around. That was going to be my first meeting with the chap, a relation of my wife’s who my madam insisted that I must see.

    The very gentle guy had come for me at the train station with their six (or so) months old baby strapped in the back seat of his car. After assuring him that I would bring the situation under control, I quickly placed a call to Lola and Bode Ilesanmi in Brentcross, North West and informed them that I would be spending that night there. Were they elated at the news! That taken care of, oga’s wife, who actually gave me a civil welcome, prepared a good meal for me while her husband entertained me and his mother-in-law, who later came in, with red wine.

    Subsequently, oga’s mum, who, incidentally, is from another black African country but married to a Nigerian from my wife’s clan, came visiting also. Not left out were his older sister and her daughter; I had learnt from my wife that they lost their dad in Nigeria many years ago while another sibling actually died in London; oga has therefore always been the last born. My most valuable host (MVH) that day was oga’s mum because she succeeded in bringing out the astute political scientist in me as I analyzed Nigeria’s present myriad woes by employing the fundamental centre-periphery paradigm, which encouraged among others, ethnicity, corruption and lack of patriotism.

    I guess at the end of my extrapolation, I was reluctantly released by oga’s mum who was surprised to see me pick up my luggage for my onward trip to Brentcross. I could sense that oga’s people would have loved for me to spend the night there- more so it was raining. But I had to protect the gentleman’s wife by referring to my responses to two earlier calls from my Brentcross hosts who were getting worried that I should have been on my way.

    Afterward, I had to send the chap an email rebuking him for voting his wife for the hang man’s noose. He should not have betrayed his wife because first impression is powerful. Ironically, the wife joined us in our discussion and contributed meaningfully too. She was indeed pleasant despite sounding impatient earlier on the phone as I tried to get the husband to pick me at the train station.

    I also learnt from oga that he got into UI the year I left and lived in a hall that was anathema to his meek mien. And I said he should have been in “The Gentlemen’s Hall” (the official slogan for the hall named after ‘abami eda’s’ dad) throughout his stay in the Premier University. Perhaps I should have inhabited his hall because of my tough Obalende background despite a stint at ‘butter-ish’ KC. Anyhow, Kuti passed through me too and my set’s EXCO portrait in the JCR is testament to this. I did not bother asking about madam’s academic background but she is strong-willed and perfectly complements her husband.
    All Comments：
    Post a Comment：(You type do not over 250 words in the fields!)
    User Name： Pass Word： anonymous （Sign Up）
    [BookMark] [Tell a Friend] [Top] [Print] [Close]