"...everybody in Nigeria, rock rock on..."

- Ebun and I got back in last night. We were in transit for about 30 hours. We had to stay in Amsterdam for about eight hours which sounds a lot cooler than it really was since we were in the airport the whole time. I mean, the airport there is really nice but we literally spent two and a half hours arguing over whether or not the airport should announce over the intercom the name of the passenger who is not aboard a particular plane yet.

It's interesting to think that over the course of 40 hours I brushed my teeth on three separate continents.

- Ok, now here is my official response to the "So How Was Nigeria?" question.

First things first, we flew on Northwest Airlines from the US to Europe. I can't help but be amused by their insistence on using the initials NWA. If they're going to do that, I think they should just go all out. They should use this: "Northwest, the airline that's...COMIN' STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Then they can get Dr. Dre and Ice Cube to offer endorsements. And they can have a dress code that requires pilots to sport jheri curls and wear Raiders caps.

I actually set foot on Nigerian soil about four hours later than scheduled. The first delay occurred while switching planes in Amsterdam. Some lady never showed up to board the plane. The problem was that all of her luggage had already been loaded. For security purposes, a plane cannot take off if a passenger has not boarded but their luggage has. So they had to remove all of her bags, but it took the ground crew a while to find them. So I was sitting in a plane full of Nigerians growing restless and watching the Dutch flight attendants act as if they weren't terrified. At least it kept me entertained.

When we landed in Lagos, I had to go to the restroom and I was making my way towards it, a man jumped out in front of me and said, "Restroom is right this way, sah." Um...yeah, I could see that but I like to be polite so I thanked him. After I had used the urinal I turned around and saw the man standing right by the sink. He said, "Big broda, here, wash your hands." And he turned the faucet on for me. "Here, big broda, dry your hands with this towel." And he handed me the towel. Of course, I surmised that he wanted some money from me, American dollars preferably, but unfortunately he had picked the wrong person. I mean, I had no reason to not give him money...had I had any cash on my person.

Anyway, it was at the airport in Lagos that the second delay occurred. For the first time in my life I was afforded the chance to join in with my fellow Nigerians to honor that time-tested tradition of complaining about NEPA. While we were waiting for our checked bags to come out of the conveyor belt the power kept going out (19 times, Ebun later informed me) so it took us about two hours longer to grab our bags. Actually, we might have been able to leave somewhat sooner than that except I didn't recognize one of my bags because it was completely wrapped up in plastic. Upon inspection, I discovered that my lock and zipper had been broken off. As far as I could tell, nothing was missing but someone had seen fit to toss in a couple of travel packs of Summer's Eve.

The following morning Uncle Yomi took my father, Aunty Elizabeth and myself to a "hotel" to exchange dollars for naira. Now, I had heard stories about driving in Lagos and had looked forward to seeing it with a kind of competitive curiosity. I have always felt that I can drive anywhere. And then I see how driving is done in Lagos and think to myself, "WTF was I thinking?" Hearing stories about how driving is done there does not do it justice. It truly is an art form. You might be able to get a better idea about it by seeing pictures and videos but to gain a true appreciation for Lagos driving, you have to drive (or be driven) in it. There's really no way to describe it but here are a few of my observations:

* any vehicle with an engine and two or more wheels can (and will) be used as a taxi;
* the motto of all these taxis appears to be "there's ALWAYS room for one more;"
* somehow drivers manage to drive with one hand always on the wheel, one hand always on the stick shift and one hand always on the horn;
* if you don't have a horn, you are operating at a serious disadvantage;
* traffic lanes, lights, signals and signs are, at best, merely minor suggestions;
* there is one traffic rule and it is this: "right of way goes to whoever has the biggest pair;"
* the previous point applies to pedestrians as well as drivers.

That evening we left Lagos and went to Ibadan where my mother already was. There, mom began to introduce me to many older people. The transactions tended to go something like this:

MOM: This is Femi.
OLDER PERSON: Eh? Femi ni? Femi Ogbomoso? Come, come! You do not remember me o! I was there when you were born! I carried you. Let me see if I can carry you now. Oh, I cannot carry you! Why have you not come sooner? You do not like Nigeria? I am glad you are here. You are welcome.

I pretty much never got a word in.

Ayo and Bade's engagement was on Saturday. It was long and it was hot but I have mostly good memories. It was at this gathering that I was introduced to many relatives whom I had never previously met. I met my dad's older sister (and for those of you not familiar with the Nigerian use of words, when speaking specifically about the siblings of your parents, you specify dad/mom's brother/sister because when you say "uncle" or "aunty" that can include literally anyone) and it was fascinating because my dad looks exactly like her. I also met cousins (literal, blood cousins) on both sides. I was surprised that more of my cousins on my mom's side don't have the Ogundipe Nose. But that's cool; I now know that it is my responsibility to make sure that the Nose does not become extinct.

At one point different groups of people were called to come out and dance. When they called for the "brothers of the iyawo" Ebun and I went out to show our stuff. Now, we all know that I'm not much of a dancer but when in Rome, right? And apparently I did enough to keep up with Ebun because for the remainder of my stay, people kept coming up to us and saying how our dancing stole the show.

Of course, the celebration also attracted the hustlers as well. There were the kids who were trying to sell their wares, the people who attached themselves to one of the two families just so they could get a free meal and maybe some money while dancing and old women who took advantage of the ignorant. I was a victim of the latter. This old woman came up to me and apparently knew three words in English which were "give," "me" and "money." I thought that she was someone's mother or aunt so I gave her N100 when she asked. But I was warned immediately afterwards that she was just going to keep coming back and try to get more money. Sure enough, every time Ebun and I were either alone or with only one another she or one other woman would come up to us and repeat the three English words she knew. But since I had already been told that it was ok to ignore her, I didn't feel bad doing that. More than anything, I was annoyed that I had been suckered although I didn't feel as gullible later when my mom told me she that one of the fake family members had started to get some money out of her.

I was supposed to go see Ogbomoso so I could see the town and hospital where I was born but time did not permit. On Sunday, however, we did worship at Oritamefa Baptist Church which is where my parents met and were wed. And that night Lade took us to what she called "a thanksgiving." She also said that it was semi-formal, so I wore some native clothing there. What she neglected to tell us was that it was more of a banquet than a thanksgiving. She also failed to mention that there was a black and white theme. At least she didn't mention it to Ebun or me. Ayo was wearing a black dress while Ebun and I were the idiots in bright blue native clothes.

Monday was my last day in Nigeria and that afternoon we went to a market to pick up some souvenirs. I decided to try my hand at haggling. Now I thought that haggling would be like what you see in movies or read in books. He would ask for a price that was way too high, I would offer a price that was way too low and eventually we would meet somewhere in the middle. One of the storefronts had this wooden statue of a man reading a book that I thought was cool. I asked the shop owner how much he wanted for it and he said 12,000. I started to walk off and he called me back and said how much would I be willing to pay for it. And I thought, "A ha! I got you now." So I said, "One thousand." He looked at me for a moment. "One thousand. One thousand naira?" "Yes," I said. He looked at me, then looked at the owner of the shop next to his who just barked a laugh, shrugged, looked at me for a a second and then went back to working on a new statue. Then the guy who had been talking to me looked back at me again. Now, up until then I figured that this was all part of the act. But the look he was giving me now made me think that maybe I had better find another place to shop. So I walked off, trying to make it look like I wasn't interested in dealing with someone who didn't want to bargain but actually just not wanting him to throw something at me. I'm pretty sure that after I left, they started talking about "the foolish akata."

No, as I discovered watching my mom, Uncle Yomi, Aunty Wemi and Aunty Iyabo, haggling is also an art form. You have to be able to read the person you're dealing with, know the value of the object you want to buy and be aware of a good value. It also doesn't hurt if you can speak pidgin. I saw one shop owner treating an Indian dude pretty contemptuously until he said, "You dey crazed." Then the owner was willing to treat the guy with some respect.

Anyway, that was my experience in Nigeria. Just because I couldn't put this anywhere else...there were three billboards that just cracked me up:

1) Why buy when you can rent?

2) Avoid casual sex; use condoms

3) Obey traffic laws

TITLE TAKEN
A Tribe Called Quest (Q-Tip); "The Chase, Part II"

"...nothing makes a man feel better than a woman..."

- Some of the profiles on MySpace fascinate me. It astounds me how many people are in the early 20s, have just a high school diploma yet still somehow earn over $250,000 per year. Why the crap did I toil for four years in college? I should have just hung out with these people. I never realized that working the night shift at Wal-Mart could be so lucrative.

- I'm the head of the grammar Nazi, so I'm already not the biggest fan of internet shorthand. And now there's this new fad where Nigerians type things the same way that they speak them. The mix of the two can be infuriating. It shouldn't take me 10 minutes to figure out someone is trying to say "You're old enough to know better" when they type "ur hold enuff 2 no beta."

- Now, I make no claims at being a sociologist or a relationship expert, but I think I know what the basic division between the two sexes is. Men and women are different. But that's not the problem. See, men are simple creatures and women are complex. But that's not the issue either. This is the crux of the matter: men don't understand why women are so complicated and women refuse to believe how simple men are.

Ladies, I guarantee you one thing. Within the next week, you will come across a man who is just looking away with his brow furrowed. And without knowing who he is, without knowing who you are and without knowing where you and he might be, I can tell you exactly what is going through that man's head.

Nothing.

See, men do that. We just have moments where we zone out. We're not doing anything, we're not thinking anything. We're just...there. But women aren't like that. There's always something going on with women. And they refuse to believe that men might not operate this way.

Most guys can relate to this: You might be with a lady. You're feeling her, she's feeling you. You're thinking, "This is nice. I can dig this." But then she has to go and ask one of those crazy questions. "What are you thinking?" "How are you feeling?" And the first thought that comes to the guy is, "Ah, crap!!!!!" Because ladies, you have to understand that, for men, these are unnatural questions. You'll never see one man ask these kinds of questions to another man. But they're important to women because women are always "thinking" and "feeling." So now the guy has two options. He can answer honestly, which is usually this: "Nothing." But that's never the right answer. His other option is to say what he thinks she wants to hear. But that's dangerous too. Because 92 percent of the time what the guy says is the wrong thing. So now she's upset because he tried to say what he thought she wanted to hear but wasn't. See how that lack of understanding the other convolutes everything? But the other eight percent of the time is just as dangerous. Because now the girl is happy with the guy's answer. And what does that mean? Now she wants to talk. Which the guy never wants to do, but he has to and it just gives him more opportunities to say something wrong.

The simple truth is this: men and women will never understand one another. Men will never understand women because there is waaaaaaaaay too much going on with women that we just don't get. Trying to get a man to understand a woman is akin to giving a calculus equation to a kindergarten kid who just learned basic arithmetic. But women will never understand men either. They actually could, but they never try to learn about men from men. Every time a woman is confused by her boyfriend who does she turn to? Her girlfriends. And what do her girlfriends do? Say way too many things that are 100 percent WRONG.

Here's my final analysis. Guys, the survival of the relationship depends on us. We have to put forth the effort in at least attempting to understand women. Yes, it's difficult. Yes, it can dang near drive us crazy. But if you have a good woman, the reward is worth it.

Or so I've heard. I'm single, so what the crap do I know?

TITLE TAKEN
Method Man; "All I Need"