What Would Craig David Do? WWCDD

If you live in Lagos, then you must know about its infamous traffic. That is a given. Unless you are a hermit. But even stories get around to hermits.

There are a lot of crazy things I see in traffic when I am driving to work in the morning. It’s unlike anywhere in the world. I once saw a man transform into a woman in the car right next to me. Okay maybe I exaggerate a bit, but after watching her doll herself in makeup and drape a wig over her head I was mortified to realize that the person driving that car was actually a woman. And she did all that with one hand on the steering. In traffic!

Mind you, I can barely eat a shawarma with one hand while driving; the car will start veering into the next lane. The other day, this particular dude took the time to wash his car- interior and all- in traffic… Okay, now you know I am just messing with you. But you get my drift; that Lagos’ traffic situation is hellish and you can just about accomplish anything you want to in it. No rush.

But you know what is worse than Lagos traffic? It is being stuck in Lagos traffic with a nagging girlfriend or wife or both in your car. I had this unfortunate experience and I had forgotten about it because it was a long time ago. Until I heard Craig David’s Walking Away on the car radio while I was driving to work yesterday morning.

I had just watched a guy fix his rear lights in traffic- apparently street hawkers not only sell car parts now but have also learned to fix them in record time, on the go. Who says the traffic is such a bad thing; do you know how many people feed off it? After that enlightening scene, I decided to switch radio channels for something soothing. I am a Classic FM person but I switch to Smooth FM when the ads become too much (which is ironic because I am an ad man) and Craig David’s Walking Away began to play on the radio. I smiled in recollection.

Flashback years ago, I was in my late teens. The Y2K scare was no longer a bother, something called “the internet” was getting popular and this cool 19 year old Brit named Craig David had just dropped one of the most popping RnB albums of the year: Born To Do It.

 

Fresh-faced me, I was a stark raving fan. Almost everything I did had a Craig David influence to it; my teddies were thinly trimmed to meet at my chin like Craig David, I spoke in cool dulcet tones like Craig David, and even wore turn-up jeans with white sneakers just like Craig David. If I could, I would have done my hair in that trademark twisted lattice pattern but I couldn’t. Not while I was still on a first name basis with my parish priest. It wasn’t only Galileo who suffered oppression from the church.

One Saturday afternoon my girlfriend (at the time) and I were heading to Ikoyi from Festac. We were going to a party and got stuck in this mad traffic. The air conditioner was broken and the heat was unbearable. The weather was oppressive and to top it up my girlfriend picked that time to have a fight with me. I can’t remember what she was on about but it mostly had something to do with a forgotten anniversary and a gift I didn’t buy. I was gutted.

I didn’t want to argue back, I hadn’t the energy to. So I did something I usually did whenever I was in a jam like this; I asked myself “What would Craig David do?”

As if in answer to my question, one of Craig David’s songs came to mind. Yes, it was Walking Away. The lyrics go on about CD (as I liked to call him then) telling us he was walking away from the troubles in his life. I also recalled the music video where he was in a similar situation as mine and he simply got out of the car and walked away, leaving the girl.

I pondered this option.

A part of me considered doing it. It was bold, it was daring and it was what CD would do. I almost did it too but then I had a reality check.

Well, for starters I was the one driving; I just couldn’t switch off the engine and abandon the car there. Secondly it wasn’t my car- though I would have liked to see my Dad’s face if I told him that I simply left his car in traffic at Apapa and walked away because my girlfriend was nagging me. Heaven knows I wouldn’t have hands to be driving my own car today.

The next thought that came to mind was the cost of a tow truck. So let’s say I left the car in mid-traffic and walked away, what next? If I was lucky a Lagos tow-truck would tow the vehicle to the nearest police station and I would be forced to pay through my teeth afterwards (my Dad wasn’t going to pay for sure- my problem my solution) and I couldn’t afford that. If I wasn’t lucky, I may never see that Mazda again. After all that was Tincan-Apapa, much less-attractive cars have been known to get “lost” along that route.

These thoughts flashed across my mind and I shook my head, nah it wasn’t worth all the trouble. Maybe I wasn’t Craig David enough. But even CD must have his own off days. So I sat in the car and took that nag, traffic, heat and all, all the way to Ikoyi. There was no Walking Away for me.

Whenever I think back to that day, I feel glad that I didn’t take the Craig David way. You see, facing my ‘troubles’ prepared and made me stronger for more girl problems I would face ahead. Sometimes simply walking away isn’t the best option.

As for Craig David, he went on to release just one more dope album before he washed out. Some say he put all his talent into the first album which in music circles isn’t such a good idea. Others say he “gymed” away his voice and couldn’t perform anymore. The last time I saw him he was looking like these prize fighters people place bets on in underground fight clubs. Yeah I know, sad really.

I switched the station back to Classic FM when the song was over, hoping to get a more uplifting sound from the nostalgic reverie I had just come out of. The traffic had eased a bit and I drove fast so I could beat the red light changing in front of me.

Click play to listen

P.S: I’m still a fan of CD. Born To Do It was my coming-of-age sound and nothing can change that. I get goose bumps when I listen to Fill Me In, and Rendezvous is my all time favorite Karaoke choice- when I indulge.

The Beauty of Black Arts?

voo·doo

[voo-doo] noun.

Also, Vodun. a polytheistic religion practiced chiefly by West Indians, deriving principally from African cult worship and containing elements borrowed from the Catholic religion.

Last week a Lagos court ordered the NDLEA to pay N25 Million to local actor Baba Suwe for unlawful arrest and defamation of character. The circumstances surrounding the case as we remember, were very unusual considering the evidence displayed on two different CT scan machines couldn't have been wrong, or could they? Otherwise what were the substances seen in Suwe's stomach and why couldn't he expel them after several weeks?

The answers to those questions may not be very far if you think much about the reason one NDLEA official gave then,

"Our machine detected it at the Airport, .....now that the CT scan conducted at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH) has confirmed drugs in his body again what will people say? The fact remains that this man is using high level juju on us"

The statement might have sounded laughable coming from a government official who is supposed to be logical especially when making public statements. By virtue of his office, he actually might have erred in his utterance, but the truth remains that in reality this is Black Africa and juju, voodoo, jazz, black magic or whatever you wish to call it is as real as night and day.

I am not saying this based on a movie from African Magic Channel (no pun intended) or some cheap Nollywood flick, my claim is backed by an actual encounter which I will share with you during the course of this post.

More recently last year, during the voter's registeration exercise, I was at Epe village; a distant native community just after the Ibeju-Lekki LGA area. I went there to get registered because I figured that there wouldn't be any long queues there unlike those in the main towns at Victoria Island and Lekki Phase 1.

During one of the stages of registration, a local woman was supposed to have her picture taken for the record but each time the Corps' member in charge hit the button, the finished photo came out blank on the digital screen. This happened twice and soon enough after third time the organisers began to get puzzled, especially after someone else had their picture taken and it came out perfect.
Then when the woman said it everybody seemed to sigh with relief and understanding.... my suspiration however wasn't with relief, it was one of unease.

Here's what she actually said:

"Ah Koyemi oh! Today when I no wear am this computa no dey work, abi if I come wear am now wetin go come happen?"

We all knew she wasn't referring to some ordinary pendant or engagement ring. Of course it was her juju! I adroitly changed my position so that I didn't make physical contact with her in any way (I hoped no one noticed). The only regret I had was that my pen which I gave her to use was not going to make it back with me to Phase 1 that day...

But that was nothing compared to the chilling experience from way back '96 which I am about to recount now. One I would never forget in a hurry, an experience which brought to actuality things I had only heard of or seen on TV. And ever since, I have come to realize that truth can indeed be stranger than fiction.

Flash back sixteen years ago. Boarding house, the place was Federal Government College Lagos, far away towards Badagry (also known as Ijanikin) and I was in J.S 3. Back then life was much easier than it is now, all I had to worry about was homework, girls and peer pressure. Yeah.

Speaking of peer pressure, I had three friends too; Gbolahon also known as 'Lanky". In those days he was as skinny as a pine leaf. If you see him today, Lanky is actually very huge now (no thanks to NYC junk food). The second guy was Davis, he was the crooked one. Every vice we tried out was introduced by Davis who probably saw it done somewhere and thought it would be fun to try out. And the last (but not the least) was a sickler named Tochukwu who put his frail body through every kind of hard test anyone could think of. I used to be afraid that he had a death wish and might actually collapse on us one day.

On that fateful evening, it was Davis as usual who came up with the idea. It was dinner time but we didn't want to join the queue at the dinning hall and besides the evening's meal was beans speckled with garri (bainz), a not-so-popular food then.

" Let's go to White House", he suggested.

"Yes am down!" That was Tochukwu always ready for any kind of adventure.

White House was a building on the outskirts of the school, just few meters from the surrounding walls. And so-called simply because of its colour. It was a nototious hang out spot for 'bad' students who braved it to scale the walls over to the other side. There were rumors then that natives of nearby villages sometimes laid in wait to kidnap students for their evil cannibalistic rituals. White House was really a thriving joint for lovers of food snacks like bread and fried eggs, fries, Suya, akara, and even squadron in small sachets popularly known as 'squaddy back then'.


Well, we all agreed that bread and Suya was a lot better than burned bainz any day so we set off for White House. It wasn't a problem jumping the fence, after all we were young boys with good knowlegede of teamwork so we leap-frogged one another over the walls. And before long we were on the other side.

The woman who ran the joint was a very large, dark complexioned woman. I am not sure of her origins but she spoke a strange dialect, hardly Nigerian. I also noticed she had a bad eye and that did not sit well with me immediately. It looked cursed, like it had been atrophied by some disease. Nevertheless we had come this far.

Davis quickly placed our orders. The place was not posh (what did I expect?) but it was well maintained though. That dark night, the only source of light there was the coal fire. Thinking back, I wonder now if the business was her only source of income, considering that majority of her market comprised of students with meagre pocket money.

As we ate our food, Iya White House sat by the fire, frying more Akara buns in a large pan while her husband (or some older man) manned the Suya spit.

                                                        


After a while, it suddenly occurred to me that we were the only customers there that night. And the place was supposed to be popular? I was about to bring this observation to Gbolahon's notice when he sat upright and shushed me. I listened up and heard it too. Davis and Tochukwu also did for they had frozen where they sat.

Footsteps...and they were approaching fast!


In the darkness of the night, because the moon could hardly be decribed as full, we observed the thickets in front of us moving vigorously and I was already getting ready to run when the shrubs cleared to reveal the despising face of Emmanuel 'Terror' Akpan!

'Terror' as he was secretly dubbed by students was the Labour prefect and the most unpopular person in F.G.C. Lagos that year. When he walked, people scampered out of the way. He cast a long shadow of horror wherever he went and showed no tolerance for bounds breaking. Already four boys had been expelled because of him and it wasn't even mid-term yet. We were in trouble and I knew there was no escaping this one.

 'Shit! Shit!! We are dead!', Tochukwu cried out repeatedly.
.
We were shaking in our seats, fear had us in its grip. That was the effect Emmanuel Akpan had. We resigned to our fate and waited for the worst to happen... but it never did.

"Quiet, be quiet!"  Someone hushed.

At first I thought it came from Davis, but he too was as clueless as I was. Then I realized it was from Iya White House. She remained in her seat by the fire but from where I sat I could see she swirled a can in her hand, her good eye was closed and her lips were moving fast, muttering words I couldn't make out. Then suddenly, without warning she tossed something powdery in our direction and warned us to remain still.

A few seconds later Terror got to where we were and paused. He looked around and made eye contact with me. He started walking towards me and I remember thinking here it comes, but instead he walked past and stopped by the fire.

"Good Evening Ma. Have any students come this way?"

"Student? No student here" And she continued turning akara in the pan, not looking up once.

Terror looked around once again. If only he knew that Tochukwu was barely three feet from him, shaking like jelly on skates...

I held my breath, I couldn't understand how our Labour prefect was unable to see us, yet I could tell that something mysterious and out-worldly was happening there that night. We were so close and yet so far from him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Terror looked at Iya once again and when she didn't return his stare he sighed and started back in the direction of the bushes. We did not move until his footsteps were no longer audible. I stretched and exhaled sharply. Now I was afraid and I know my friends were too because nobody was keen on finishing their food anymore.

A great sense of foreboding weighed down heavily on us as we went back to the school that night. Not one of us spoke till we got into our domitory. I couldn't shake the feeling from me that I was under some unholy shadow, even after I had my bath that night. And for the first time in many months I prayed my rosary before I slept.

Till this day even if I have no explanation for our 'invisiblity', one thing was sure; that woman had cast some sort of voodoo or juju over us and it was real. Logic or not, it had worked.

And so back to the issue at hand, if that NDLEA official can back his claim with some kind of proof, the Iya White House kind, then maybe the court will rescind its decision on the matter. But until that happens, Baba Suwe can actually smile to his bank.