As random as it gets...

I like the rain. Scratch that. I love the rain. So much so that I've been known (at my adult age I might add) to walk gleefully and slowly, while the rain poured down on me. There's just something about it that is, I don't know, refreshing and cleansing. Oh, and don't forget cool as well. The sound of rainfall is the perfect soundtrack to a meditative state of mind. Then again, that's just me.

 

I think I hate my job. I know, I know...I was the one who took it, right? But contrary to unpopular belief though, I took this job 'cos it affords me the opportunity to be a lil' closer to my home base (remember sey omo boy wan enter politics). But after three months in it, I definitely do believe I hate it. What to do? I'm scheming to:

1. Get into the brand communications department of the bank; or
   
2. Get another job in advertising.
   

 

Either ways, by God's grace, come next month, I'm back to my beloved Lagos. So if any y'all know of any vacancy in an ad agency for a copywriter (said agency must be willing to pay "kidnappers' salary" LOL), or a vacancy in the corporate affairs or brand communications department of a company that is "holding", let your boy Muse know.

 

I seriously believe I've been in some relationships for the wrong reasons. I don't know. This is what I believe though, when I see her, I will know. So, here goes my undertaking from now on: stay away from "something more". We can be friends, but that's all it's going to be. I'm too much of a contradiction to be in any relationship now.

 

The new theme for the phase of my life is Faze's "Originality". That song 'ministers' to me. Preach!

 

So, someone said the rainfall was the almighty One taking a piss. Right. Some statements I rather not even reply. Someone else said it was God shedding a tear. If that's the case, then God must really have a lot to cry about. Well, whatever the case may be, I just love the rain.

there’s something about change...

For some time now, I've been contemplating a most contentious issue. oyibo!

 

Seriously.

 

They say change is the only constant in life, and that they who will survive, must change; must adapt. But come to think of it, do I want to? I mean, really? Think about it: one day you're massaging a mixture of spirit and "Sulphur 8" on your chin like your life depends on it, and the next day you're running sharp objects round your chin (perhaps elsewhere as well?) in a bid to remove that oh, stubborn hair that keeps growing back.

 

Change, huh? Well.

 

But I think I've changed some. See, back in school, I didn't know what I wanted to do when I got out. Cos, well, unlike some of you who read courses that pretty much led them (albeit blindly, I say) into a defined career path (think of the poor sods who read medicine, optometry, law, engineering...) I read history and International Relations (HIR) – in Abia state University (ABSU).

 

Before you start "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" at the mouthful of a course, let me just state here that the swagger of that degree was just in the title. One of the courses, study of the world languages, was a walk-through the Igbo language. Yeah man, I always knew my Igbo brothers would eventually make an impact on the whole world. Nna meen! Noting mega!

 

So. I read HIR at ABSU. And while most of my course mates – and even the current students – kept deceiv...sorry, encouraging themselves that they would automatically become diplomats on graduation (they did then, and still do keep calling themselves ambassadors till today) I had not the faintest clue as to where I would end up.

 

Ofcourse, several thoughts crossed my mind:

 

1. Get a shop in Ariairia; or
   

1. Employ boys that would carry market-goers across those gaping pot-holes that just filled up once it rained; or
   
   1. Become a diplomat (after all, I read HIR, no?); or
      
   2. 
       

      
       

Yeah. Or something.

 

I just had no clue. So, with a box full of whatever I thought I might need and a heart full of hope (na, scratch that and put curiosity) I went for Youth Service – in Yobe State. I still had no plan, but hey... I had a whole year to make one up.

 

But I didn't want to work in a bank.

 

Chang happens, right? Fast forward three years, and now I'm sitting at home and typing these words off the top of my head. I've already quit two jobs (in advertising – which I must confess, I love more than a whole lot of things) and I'm on the third. In a bank!

 

So change happens. I decided to come back to Aba from Lagos for a reason. I decided to leave the job I love and pick up one I may one day learn to like for a reason. I didn't get that shop in Ariaria for a reason. And I'm sure as the cold wind in winter writing all these for a reason.

 

What would you guys say if I told you Muse waned to unveil himself?

 

To change or not to change. That is the question at hand.

I have a dream...

Some people argue that dreams are a subconscious repetition of events that we’ve let play around in our minds over a long period of time, especially just before hitting the sack. Others argue that dreams are a bridge between the physical and the supernatural worlds. Whatever it is, – subconscious repetition or supernatural bridge – lately I’ve been dreaming.

And it ain’t been pretty.

I get home from work, barely manage to undress while simultaneously hitting the sack, watch a bit of Commander In Chief (don’t you just love that stubborn gal, Mac?) and doze off. Now one might think that after a particularly stressful day of talking to an ill-mannered, unapologetically annoying dude with bad breath, and who thinks that an LC (letter of credit) is someone’s English name, one would have a pleasant, eventless dream full of rolling landscapes and three little birds.

Wrong.

Somehow, my now-obviously warped mind manoeuvres events in my dream to bring me right back to...wait for it...WORK! Yep. These days, I’ve opened just about any type of account the bank has in my dream. And just to think that a few weeks ago I was laughing at a colleague for complaining that she was marketing in her dream. Now it seems I do too. Not fair. Not fair at all!

But my mind’s even more messed up than I think.

After endlessly complaining about my dream job (no pun intended), I finally had a break.

I had a dream, yes, but not one about work! I was coordinating a high-level rescue operation for a top-secret government agency (don’t ask me which), and I was pretty much on top of my game. Trust me, I’m bad!

So. I’m coordinating this operation, when this theme music starts playing (somehow, I suspect Enya had a hand in this) just when the building blows up with one of my men inside! WHAT?! NO!!!!!!!!!!! And in the usual turn-of-events of Hollywood movies, the characters start revealing their faces while showing strong emotions when – and I swear I screamed out so loud my younger brother abruptly stopped snoring in his room – my horror-filled scream tore through the thin fabric of the night.

ALL THE CHARCTERS WERE MY COLLEAGUES FROM WORK!

God help me. Somehow I've got to meet that target.

Tired on a roll

It’s been a busy few days.

Come to think of it, starting from last week, I’ll have to sit at the reception each time I go to my former place of work. Now, that will be weird.

Muse: Hi, I’m here to see my (ex) boss.

Receptionist: Hello? There’s a Muse here to see Muse’s (ex) boss. Is he available?

Anyway, having packed my bags and said my goodbye to all my numerous girl friends (I wish), I proceeded to my place of birth and breeding, the ever-famous city of Aba – but first, a short trip to the paradise city of Calabar.

Did You know that I almost left my phones behind in Lagos? Just an aside; just an aside!

Calabar is a beautiful city by all standards (especially when the standards are Nigerian). From the immaculately clean streets to the smooth, well-tarred roads, Calabar is ne city that makes you want to go home, turn your state Governor face-down / ass-up, and give him a spit-shined, healthy leather boot-covered kick in the ass – just a few hundred times. I mean, this is a city in a state that, though in the South-South geopolitical zone of Nigeria, is not an “NDDC” state. Yep, that means they ain’t got oil. And if they ain’t got oil, they ain’t getting no oil allocation from the FG, which naturally means that they should be the least developed of the NDDC states. Right? WRONG!

Waiiiiiiit a minute! This is not a post about Calabar or even about politics – this is a post about MY busy few days. Calabar will have to wait.

Oh, did I mention that Calabar has a vibrant night life (as if you didn’t know already)?

SO...I spend a coupla nights in Calabar (where by the way, my host treats me to a sumptuous meal of pounded yam and affang soup), then zoom off on a three-hour journey to Aba. Said trip was nice and all, but trust the Nigerian Police to mess things up. Just as we got into Aba, some hungry-looking (remember folks, this isn’t profiling; it’s actually their trade mark) mobile police men stopped us. Driver brings out his hand to do the “usual”, which piques the officer. In righteous indignation (of course), the officer decides he’s going to do a thorough check on the bus...and guess who’s boxes he wants to see their contents?

By this time, I’m thinking “add another drama to my life, and you might as well just call me Britney Spears”.

Sure, I did disappoint the police. What did they expect to see...weed (although there were some tea bags that looked pretty suspicious)? All in all, that was not funny.

Next stop, Abiriba (my villa y’all). Burial. Nothing much. Except that my sister decides to come home with her coin-box-displaying friends of hers.

Did you know that coin boxes came in different shades and sizes – even foldable? I swear!

As if the coin-box assault was not enough, one of her friends decides she likes me. Me! What the heck?! One minute I’m standing alone, the next...”Hi!” WHAT THE HECK?! You’re still in the university for goodness’ sake (like that matters)! And not to mention the thing of you coin-boxing everyone within sight! To top it off, you’re my younger sister’s friend (you think I’m going to be foolish enough to give all y’all something to gossip about?)! Ha! In fact, double haaa!

My troubles were not over. Not just yet.

The next day I zoom off to Aba again, then from there to Onitsha, being driven by the most maniacal driver I’ve ever had the misfortune of entering his vehicle.

Oh, wait. There was that other guy who got so drunk that he caused the car to summersault three times! I’m glad nothing was broken – on me sha. He had to wear neck braces for a long time.

I get to Onitsha in one piece, thank God, having survived a reckless driver and a spit-throwing, irate driver who was cut off by our idiotic bus driver. Unfortunately, some of that spit landed on me.

I’ve been defiled.

So here I am, sitting out a three-day induction at the regional office of a bank, after which I move to my place of posting (Aba). This is more like detention than induction, ‘cos all I’m doing is sitting and wishing I was not here.

Anyway, come tomorrow I’m outta here, and even though I almost can’t stand any more travelling, I’m looking forward to this trip.

I’m also looking out for that maniac of a driver!