Why should I part with my 'change'?

FUNKE ADETUTU
Last weekend, I was at my playground (the Palms Shopping Mall) as the man on top, Phillip, would dare to call it. It was some minutes past eight that night and many shoppers were hurriedly doing some kind of last minute shopping since Shoprite closes at 9pm. Also, most people had probably shopped for consumer items that would last them for the week since it was a Sunday. Waiting on the queue to pay for purchased items could really be energy sapping; especially at a period shopping is at its peak. At times, the queues at the pay point could be very long and time consuming.
That was just the experience I had last Sunday when a friend and I decided to stop over at Shoprite for a bowl of ice cream. The payment process was also slowed down by a cashier who had to call on an attendant to help cancel an item that was wrongly imputed or one that the code detector refused to detect the code on it for the price.
Hence, the customers on queue had no choice but to wait for the process to be completed. It could also be very annoying if the price was also not on the item, especially when other purchased items had been imputed on the machine, hence the cashier would have to beckon on an attendant to check the price of the item from the counter where it was displayed.
In such cases, you have no choice but to wait for the whole process to be completed. And you can’t help it but to pray that the waiting game should be over soon if you are buying just a bowl of ice cream like me. Such was the scenario last Sunday. While we were waiting, my friend decided to go for other items and I earnestly prayed that she returned before I pay because I could not afford to linger on the queue much longer that I had. Luckily, I was the next person to pay and for me her return was timely. Thank God none of the items we picked was not without a price as the codes were readable by the machine.
But just as we thought it was over, the cashier told us she did not have change. And in such a shop, there was no way you could ask anyone to change the currency for you, at least it was not an open market. My friend and I brought out all the monies we had in us, only to discover that all we had on was on higher denomination. And no one on the queue made any attempt to help, not even the cashier whom we thought should have called on an attendant to go for lower denomination in their inner office. Hence we did not have a choice but to leave our change behind.
“So, whose pocket would that money go? My friend asked. “I can’t say,” I replied. “Well, it could go to the cashier’s or the shop’s account.” “I’m sure what we left behind must be for the cashier. But you see, the problem I have with this country is that there is no plan for virtually everything. In advance countries, such money goes to the orphanages. It’s not for the store or cashier. In fact, the company would direct it to the orphanages after they have declared profit.”
“I understand your point, but you see things don’t work that way here. And it would have been a great idea if that kind of money is given to orphanages,” I said.
That was the thought that occupied my mind as we journeyed home that evening. I wondered how much change many people would have left at the care of the cashier who would be too glad to have that as a take home. The N10 or N20 left behind by more than a thousand people who visit the store daily would have gone a long way to put a child to school or feed two or more of them in the orphanages.
Alas, we don’t have such a system in place that cares for the less privileged. It would have been a fantastic idea if such money could be channelled towards that cause. Honestly, what my friend said got me really thinking and I recalled some days when I had to leave my change behind. It was not twice or thrice. If I should keep those changes in a pigeon safe, we used to call Kolo in those days as a child, I’m sure at the end of the month I should be able to count N3, 000 or more. I’m very sure there are other shoppers who must have left more change than I have left with the cashiers.
You can imagine if it is the same scenario in all the shops on the Island, like my friend told me of her experience at the supermarket inside the electronic store at Mega Plaza . She had to leave her N10 change behind when the cashier complained that there was no change. You may be quick to say how much is N10? Of course, N10 does not mean any thing much to my friend, considering how much she receives at the end of the month.
But the truth is N10 in 1,000 places could do a lot in the life of a child at the orphanage. Hence, mega stores across the country should kindly put in place a system whereby such monies would be channelled towards orphanages, to have a good reason to part with our changes.

We have a dream

FUNKE ADETUTU

Some weeks ago, Ogho Okiti, the chairman of our editorial board here at BusinessDay accused me of making too many trips for which I never invited him. His comment was informed by a piece I did titled: The Telephone Conversation. I hope he won’t be crossed with me if he reads this and discovers that I made another trip to Ada in Osun State last weekend!
It wasn’t a self-sponsored or planned trip. It was one made possible by the Future Awards. Honestly, it was a fun-filled trip, one that made me feel good and rekindled hope that it was still possible for Nigeria to be back on the wheel of progress again. It was the meeting of brilliant young minds in the country and I was touched by the outpouring of ideas from everyone through the different arguments that marked our trips from one part of Osun State to another.
It was great hanging out with crazy but humorous characters like Lepacious Bose, Ego of Koko Below fame, Derenle and Kunle, Rooftop Mc. These were comic characters who never struggled with their inner selves to make us laugh. It was as if they were naturally born with jokes, so you can imagine what our moods were as the rib-cracking jokes effortlessly flowed from the inner recess of their beings. Lepacious Bose and Rooftop MC spontaneously joked about virtually everything, even the most serious subject.
Most of the subjects range from childhood, adulthood to other social issues. Quite instructive were the jokes on childhood which forced each and every one of us to think about the innocence characteristic of that period. It was a formative stage when many seeds were sown on the fertile mind of a child. And the argument was made possible by the fact that every one of us on that bus passed through that stage. Hence, when Etim Emmanuel who earned the title of ‘Mr. Advocate,’ as a winner in that category of the Future Awards observed that a child should have access to sex at a stage when he reaches orgasm, every one on the bus yelled a resounding “no.”
“As a young boy,” he recalled, “I asked my mother when did I have an erection? She was shocked to hear me ask such a question at such a tender age of 10. But she wouldn’t answer me because she felt it was not the right kind of question to ask.”
“Yes, I understand why your mother refused to answer. If I become a mother, I wouldn’t encourage my young girl to have sex at 12 or 13. It’s wrong,” Lala, an actress with Theatre@Terra, countered sharply.
The argument was long drawn and poor Mr. Advocate was on his own as almost everyone was against his position. No body saw the issue from his perspective. For me, it brought to bare the pretentious nature of our society which classified certain norms as good or bad. Ours is a society that considers sex education a taboo, hence, young boys and girls are made to learn this on their own. I’m very sure that most of us on that bus learnt what we know about sex either from friends, the programmes we watched on television, or the magazines and books we read.
The interesting thing about the whole argument was that it was at this age of innocence also that we all had dreams to become this or that in future. This seed, sown in our hearts has been realised by most of us while we still aspire to do better than what we are currently. Even as young adults, we have many dreams yet unrealised.
As we made our return journey to Lagos, we all exchanged contacts. While doing so, Bose of the Bank PHB Intern fame requested Mr. Advocate to add his telephone number to the contact list on her phone. Our dear Lepacious Bose would not let this pass her by.
“You didn’t ask for my e-mail address,” she queried, adding, “because I’m not Miss Advocate, abi?”
“I need it for my political career,” answered Bose.
“You want to be a political?” Joked Rooftop MC.
“Yes, I want to be the first female president,” replied Bose while giving Rooftop a serious ‘I can do it’ look.
“I want to be the husband of a president,” said AY with a toothy smile, as he raised his two hands to the air almost hitting the bus’ roof.
“You will be the first man, you mean?” Asked Rooftop Mc.
Hitherto, Bose and AY had been the two love birds in the group. They were always together, except when Bose was not at the breakfast table. Thus, it wasn’t a surprise when AY openly announced himself as the first man to be, a rare feat in a patriarchal society like ours, you’d agree. Well, I must say that this kind of thinking is only possible with this kind of young man, who, like everyone of us, is the voice of the future, the ideology which drives all of us, including the organisers of the award. It’s about young people with revolutionary minds who believe in the Obama slogan: “Yes, I can!”
It’s about men and women who believe in the power of their dreams. It’s instructive that all of us have dreams, projects we hope would materialise someday.
Meanwhile, let me hurriedly whisper this into your ears, Lepacious Bose is working towards staging a new kind of comedy show, Emilia Asim-Ita, marketing coordinator, Future Awards aspires to become a newscaster, Mr. Advocate is working towards Nigeria signing the African Youth Charter, like other African countries that have done so, Rachael Ogbu of NewsWatch magazine is planning to go for a higher degree abroad, the list is endless. It’s about engaging in positive activities that will bring changes to our fatherland.

A romance with nature at Erin-Ijesa

FUNKE ADETUTU, who was at the Erin-Ijesa Waterfall in Ilesa, Osun State, writes that the spring is a soothing balm and beautiful sight to behold.

It is 1pm. The yellowish rays of the sun fall brilliantly on the rustling leaves of nearby trees, while its light plays a trick on the trees’ greenery. The rustling sound of the leaves and the chirping sound of birds nested on the tree branches create a harmonious sound that only nature can produce.
It is this kind of atmosphere the MicCom Golf Resort in Ada has to offer this Saturday afternoon.
“We shall travel to see a lake and later the Erin-Ijesa Waterfall,” Emilia Asim-Ita, the marketing/public relations co-ordinator for the Future Awards, announces to the group. It is a smooth ride from Ada to Erin-Oke, the little village where the waterfall is located.
We drive through little villages and settlements and the Ilesa Township .
Ilesa is a boisterous town alive to the rhythm of the hot sun, where men and women go about their businesses in the full glare of our little convoy as we drive through. After about some 20 minutes drive, the bus veers off the expressway into a bumpy road that leads to the sleepy village of Erin Oke .
The asphalt on the road has worn off and has been overridden by sand and dirt. Later, the bus navigates its way through a path overgrown with shrubs and bushes before it finally pull to a stop before a blue wall. A brownish black gate is erected on it to keep intruders at bay. Written on the battered wall is a barely visible price list: Children N50; Adult: N100; Photo camera; N500.
Adebola Williams gets off the bus to negotiate with the gatekeepers before we are allowed entry.
“Welcome to Erin-Ijesa Waterfall. The Living spring” reads a weather-beaten signpost at the entrance.
Although the inscription is almost fading, yet they are legible. Used packs of food, can drinks litter everywhere. Food, drinks, and shower cap vendors shout out their wares to the hearing of adventurous tourists and picnickers, who throng the waterfall daily. A group of tourist is finding its way out when we arrived.
At the foot of the stairway lies a pile of debris which is an eyesore for a tourist centre like this. We hiked up amid threat of climbing different levels from those who were there the previous year. Defying the threat, we trudge on in anticipation of what lies ahead, stepping on the murky water streaming down the stairway. Intermittently, as we scrambled upward the muddy, rocky slope, we pause for a couple of group photos before moving on.
The lapping sound of the spring could be heard miles away as we climb the muddy dilapidated stairs of the waterfall, as the coolness of the spring permeates everywhere. After walking for about 10 minutes, we came face-to-face with the famous Erin-Ijesa Waterfall. The water cascades down slimy rocks turned green by the constant flow of water. Broken pieces of rocks serve as stepping stones through which we climb up to the water.
The Olumirin Waterfall, as it is also called, is lovely and the sight before us is breathtaking. We all screamed for joy at the sight of the gift that Mother Nature bestowed on us. With almost a blind rush, few of us pull off our clothes to have a first hand feel of the cool water gushing out of the rock.
Many people climb to the third floor with the hope of reaching the water source.
Richard Olasinde, front office supervisor, MicCom Golf Resort, who also doubles as our guide, explains to me that the source of the spring is on the seventh step, which is about two hours journey from the first step where we are.
“There are seven steps. Where we are now is just the first step. The last step is a flattish area covered in trees. There are all kinds of fruits like pineapple, oranges, among others there. The source of the spring is a rock like the shape of a pot from which the water gushes like a pump.”
Olaseinde believes that for most tourists and funs seekers, climbing up to the third level can best be equated to traipsing the snowy steeply mount Everest. Obviously, being at these different levels and just basking in the invigorating freshness of the falls is an unforgettable experience, for most people.
“The place to be is definitely the seventh level,” he says. “Not only does it lie at the peak of the falls, it is also hosts a settlement where many of its inhabitants have lived for several years including a church.”
According to him, from the top of the falls one could see the town of Erin-Ijesa itself.
In the end, we could not help it but agree that Nigeria is a beautiful country and Nigerians are indeed very warm people with a very rich culture.
From the Yankari Games Reserve in the north, to the Obudu Cattle Ranch in south, the nation is indeed a haven for tourists. Nigeria is full of breathtaking landscapes and awe-inspiring sceneries as the Erin-Ijesa Waterfall like any other tourist attraction in the country has a story to tell.
“Amazingly, the fall doesn’t look like anything out of this world until you begin climbing the seven levels of the ascending plains of the waterfalls. The view at all the levels is wonderful and the freshness of the water is energising.
“However, the last and seventh level is definitely the most intriguing, well that’s if you ever dare it,” says a friend, who had been to the waterfall.
Although, we never dared to climb far up yet, but the refreshing water from the fall is very irresistible, hence it is saddening when Adebola Williams announces that it is time to go. Erin-Ijesa, we all agree is indeed a sight to behold.

It's not just chicken

FUNKE ADETUTU

Even as I write this, it is still difficult explaining what held me at Marina, Lagos last Saturday. I was there till about 7.40 pm, even though it was such an ungodly hour to be on that road alone. You see, I was actually waiting for a co-traveller that evening when I decided to seek refuge at Chicken Licken fast food restaurant, situated inside the Oando filling station.
As I entered the eating area, I was torn between placing an order for a drink or ice cream and going to the ‘little girls’ room. I made a split-second decision to opt for the latter, but what I encountered surprised me.
“Where is the loo?” I asked one of the waiters.
“It’s over there,” he answered, pointing at a door in a corner on the far right.
“Where?” I asked again since I couldn’t make anything out of where he pointed at.
“Let me lead you,” he offered, after which he led me towards a long, dark corridor. I was taken aback when I realised that darkness had engulfed the whole passageway.
“There is no light here,” I observed, a little frightened.
“Yes, there is no power in the mall,” he replied.
“How possible is that when there is power in here?” I queried, demanding an explanation.
It was surprising to discover that the toilets were located in the adjoining mall; thus the source of power in the mall where the eating area was located was different from that of the toilets.
While the young man was busy with his explanations, a strong wind blew across the corridor, leaving a disgusting odour in its wake. “This place stinks,” I complained to the waiter while holding my breath. “And you expect people to walk in here to eat in this kind of atmosphere, no disinfectant for the toilets, no air freshener, nothing?”
This time, the waiter had no reply for my questions. Perhaps, he actually realised they had done badly in that respect. He opened his mouth to say something but the words refused to come out. He probably knew there was just nothing to say that would convince me.
I returned to my seat to join to my co-traveller who just came. Like me, she was tired and and needed a drink. But the bad odour oozing from the toilet would not let us stay.
“This is serious. I don’t think we can stay in here,” my friend said.
“We can’t,” I agreed with her.
“You see, the last time I was here,” my friend said while narrating her ordeal, “I was asked to use another toilet behind the building. When I got there, I could not use the convenience because it’s a place used by area boys. I asked myself, ‘Why do I have to do that?’ I could not use it because it stank badly.”
My friend is just one of the many people who have complained about the toilet at this branch of Chicken Licken. Though it’s understandable that getting a good convenience might be a bit challenging in a central business district like Marina, the management of the eatery ought to have taken this into consideration while planning the outlet. It’s sad that customers have to consume their food in an atmosphere saturated by stale air oozing from the toilet. Apart from the fact that it’s unhygienic, such a scenario is inappropriate for an eatery of that status. Customers should be able to breathe fresh air without any form of difficulty.
“I don’t think I’d like to come here again,” my friend said with a tone of finality. Since that was not her first experience, I could not persuade her to pay another visit. She couldn’t even linger for another second that evening; hence we retraced our steps into the cold night with our thirst.

Wood carving: A blend of beauty and functionality

FUNKE ADETUTU writes that there is more to a piece of wood than meets the eye, as wood carvers creatively turn lifeless logs into beautiful but functional pieces

This hazy harmattan afternoon, the misty cold, a hangover from the early hours of the morning, still hangs loosely in the air as artisans hurriedly go about their business at the Oke fia area of Osogbo. School children just returning from school are decked out in their sweat-soaked uniforms under the scorching rays of the sun. A few yards away, two women quibble over two pieces of iced fish. At a motor park overlooking the railway line, bus conductors shout their destination to the hearing of passers-by who seem disinterested in the noise around them. It seems unbelievable that creative works which grace shrines, homes across the country nay the world are actually produced in this raucous area.
Meanwhile, Adebanbo Osuntomi is at work in front of his home which doubles as his workshop. He picks up a saw to cut a piece of wood into equal halves, but it appears the edge of the saw isn’t sharp enough. Hence, he is forced to expend another ounce of energy before it obeys his command. He sniffs hard at the piece he wants to work on, nods with approval, picks up a chisel and hammer, and begins to creatively carve out an image he alone can understand.
“The secret of the wood lies in the carver,” Adebanbo explains, while using the back of his hand to wipe off beads of sweat from his forehead. “It’s is not known to the ordinary eye. I can use a piece of wood as a base for the figure or I can decide to use it as the figure itself. I can use it as human shadow. I can turn it into anything, depending on what comes into my mind.”
True to his words, there are many things inside a lifeless log of wood which an ordinary person cannot see. This is why it becomes incredible that out of these logs, Adebanbo and his men fashion out beautiful images that have become the toast of many tourists within and outside the country.
What these men do not know as they work their bones sore this afternoon, is that their works are the subject of discussion in classrooms, art showrooms and museums, even in the home of art collectors the world over.
Adebanbo has produced works of art that protect the grooves in Osogbo and beyond from intrusion and decay. His works include well carved images of Soponna and Sango, the Yoruba god of thunder. They are strikingly eclectic images which cannot be ignored even by a non-believer. Adebanbo believes art cannot be disconnected from its religious functions because creativity is part of ritual life. Hence, the fusion of art and religion is at the core of his art and the singular purpose of his work is to protect the sacredness of nature. His works present a mixture of architecture and sculpture.
As far as Adebanbo is concerned, the best wood for his work is Ebony, although he uses Tick and Apia. “I use Apia for wood door that comes with images on them. I use Apia because it is durable,” he says. Although they get wood supplies from sellers at times, Adebanbo and his apprentice go to the woods in search of logs for their craft. The price depends on the size. It could be N5, 000 or N6, 000. As he explains, “We can make many images from a log of wood. It depends on the height and the size of the image that I want to carve.”
Wood carving is more than the artistry involved in the craft. The Yoruba are more apt to think of the art as an act of Oju’na in the Yoruba dialect, meaning “creative imagination.” They believe the creative imagination is executed with skill and an understanding of the subject, rather than seeing wood carving as an object. For them, artistry is the exploration and imaginative recreation of received ideas and forms, usually from the divine. It is a vital part of being, and creativity is associated with the divine. Therefore, the work of a wood carver is a blend of creativity and the divine, beauty and functionality.
For a practitioner of the trade like Stanley Osarenren, wood carving is a statement about humanity or some aspects of human life, besides which it is an intuition of truth about the natural world.
“For the designs, I don’t use pictures. I will call it a gift. We all have our specialties as carvers. As for me, I specialise in abstract works. For instance, I just finished working on two lovers abstract. There is another one named ‘figure’. This is the figure of a woman carrying a pot. It could also be that of a woman carrying a baby. This form of carving is realistic carving. It is human,” explains Osarenren. Hence, wood carving is a means of conveying an intuition about divinity. These artisans are simply using their craft as an expression of their inner beings.
Since Nigerian culture is intrinsically woven with African religion, carved images are a mediating factor for both religion and culture in Nigeria. The predominant rituals in creative works like wood carving become even clearer with the appreciation of the fact that both art and religion were considered twins of the same transcendental offshoot.
Thus, for faithful of the traditional religion, visible forms are but mirrors of the unutterable myth of earth and heaven reflecting on each other. If art expresses reality in images and religion expresses ultimate reality in symbols, then religious art expresses religious symbols in artistic images. Wood carving is therefore the meeting point for the finite and infinite, and the functionality of the craft occupies a significant place in this enterprise.
For most collectors, the meaning ascribed to carved images could provide paradigms for the consideration of their functions. Such images functions as a tool to maintain a concept of reality by giving form to the ideas or observations of not only the individual but the carvers themselves. These ideas or observations are translated into concrete forms by the carvers who at times are ignorant of the functionality of their craft.
“Wood carving is functional in many ways,” says Odia Ofeimun, poet and literary critic. It preserves and enhances a people’s culture for it serves as a method of record keeping and makes culture mobile. Historical records are embedded in forms of art, which serve as a means of preserving the people’s culture. Most times, they function as objects of worship.”
Another function of images carved from wood is the aesthetics. It brings beauty to the home. Often times, however, there is an overlap between these functions, hence art could entertain, express a people’s idea of reality and record their history all at once. What is implausible is for art to fail in performing at least one of the aforementioned functions at any given time or space.
“Wood carving is a form of visual art,” says Adropo Ewenla, a student of visual art at a state university. Works of art consist of two elements, the inner and the outer as well as two levels of knowledge, esoteric and exoteric. The esoteric knowledge level usually informs the inner element of art through knowledge, which is informed by the artist’s intended meaning for his work.”
Therefore, this could be a story that goes with the work of art, the content of which may consist of private or public concerns. This knowledge is accessible to a few people, the artist in this case. “The outer element of art gives expression to the inner element and manifests at the exoteric knowledge level, for it is accessible to all. It is expressed in aesthetic values and decorations. The outer element gives the images carved their visible and audible qualities. Both elements are significant and affect their performance or presentation,” Ewenla adds.
However, a new generation of artists is looking at other modern forms through which they can express themselves. Ubong Boniface is a carver at Mende Maryland in Lagos. He represents a new generation of carvers whose works have found expression in different forms of art. “I learnt wood work but nor carving,” he explains. “I do what I call ‘cut and paste’ technique. After I was tutored by my friend’s father, I became learned in the art. I realised that I can paint but I decided to go for sculptor. I find it the most expressive and it is more lucrative.”
In the meantime, Boniface is putting finishing touches to a piece he titled Back from Labour. His kind of art which he named “fibre glass” comes under sculpture. This is another more modern form that he uses to express his creativity. A 2 by 3 piece of Back from Labour, he says, could earn him N15, 000 or more depending on the status of the customer. “Before you do any art,” he advises, “you have to dream it. You have to finish everything inside your mind so that it will come out the way you want it.”
However, the aesthetics of carved images make it a marketable commodity, even though most carvers in Osogbo and Lagos are complaining bitterly about low turnover. “I don’t want to limit myself to the Nigerian market. I plan to export my products abroad, but it’s not been easy, I must say. Different economic policies have posed a serious challenge. But I hope one of my plans will materialise,” says Adebanbo with a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes.
But despite this challenge that carvers face, the place of wood carving remains unequalled for most collectors, as a result of its beauty and functionality.

The telephone conversation

FUNKE ADETUTU

Some days back, I was on a bus for a fun trip to some fascinating places outside of Lagos. Riding on a big bus like that was quite interesting, especially with the variety of faces on it, most of them unfamiliar. All the same, it was fun to meet new people. At least, it’s not a bad idea to add one or two friends to the bagful I already have.
Although it wasn’t a long trip, it was short enough to create the right atmosphere for the camaraderie characteristic of a group trip. As with most outings beyond Lagos or the country, it was a good time to relive the last moment we all had with our loved ones. And some people had to make last-minute telephone calls.
But you see, what surprised me the most that day was the rate at which the calls poured in. it was really amazing that almost everybody on board was receiving calls at the same time. What a cacophony of voices it was! While some spoke in whispers, others shouted at the top of their voices.
“Yes, we are on our way,” someone said behind me. “Kola, I need 4, 000. Please, let me have it before next Monday,” said another person. “What does he need 4, 000 for?”
“4, 000 what?” I asked myself. As if the speaker could read my mind, he responded: “4, 000 litres of diesel for the generator in the office.”
“Oh, I see. It’s diesel and not naira,” I said again to myself.
Just then, another person burst into a hilarious laughter that could turn a corpse in its grave. For most of us, it was so unusual for anyone to have laughed so loud alone, but then, cell phones have made just about anything possible.
When the environment became a bit less noisy, the various telephone conversations brought to my mind Wole Soyinka’s use of irony to depict the absurdity of racism in his poem, Telephone Conversation. But this time, I’ll take some steps away from Soyinka by calling my experience “the absurdity of humour,” which means laughing aloud without anyone else around. The speaker of Soyinka’s poem, a dark West African man searching for a new apartment, tells the story of a telephone call he made to a potential landlady. Instead of discussing price, location, amenities, and other information significant to the apartment, they ended up discussing the speaker’s skin colour. The landlady is described as a polite, well-bred woman, even though she is shown to be shallowly racist. The speaker is described as being genuinely apologetic for his skin colour, even though he has no reason to be sorry for something which he was born with and has no control over.
In short, the speaker is an intelligent person by reason of his use of high diction and quick wit, not the savage that the landlady assumes he is because of his skin colour. All of these discrepancies between what appears to be and what really is create a sense of verbal irony that helps the poem display the ridiculousness of racism.
Coming back to that afternoon, all the speakers were in a world of their own! They did not narrate their experiences after the conversations, but just recoiled to themselves, smiling secretly. You know, that kind of smile that usually refuses to leave the face long after the conversation has ended.
And so, one of the speakers who sat close to me heaved a sigh and began a kind of self-confession about a date she was supposed to honour but would be unable to because of the trip. The speaker had lied to the other person that she was on Victoria Island, whereas she was heading towards Ibadan! It is ironic that I call it a self-confession since the speaker had nothing to confess because she had done nothing wrong. In fact, I was enjoying the conversation since the phone was a bit loud. What the person on the other end said came through clearly, thanks to GSM technology! But making the speaker actually seem sorry for her lies showed how ridiculous it really was for me to let her know I was listening in on the conversation. Nonetheless, it seemed almost comical to me that anyone would tell such a brazen lie in the first place.

What was on my mind?

FUNKE ADETUTU

The evening of last Sunday was one that I can never forget in a hurry. I must admit that I wasn’t exactly sure of my feelings. They were just as uncertain as I was. I honestly did not know what to make of what was ahead.
That evening, MUSON was my destination. Even though I was sure the event had started two hours earlier, nevertheless, I still trudged on. I recall someone had told me some days earlier that I just had to be there. As of then, the invitation had yet to be delivered to me. I didn’t even know that I made it to the finalist list.
“You didn’t tell me you were nominated for the Future Awards,” Phillip, our editor, queried me.
“I thought I told you I made it to the semi-final stage. I didn’t know what became of the nomination since then,” I answered. And sincerely, I did not really follow events up there again to know what became of the list after I got the first alert on Facebook. I was expecting to get a notification like the first, but it never came until my conversation with Phillip. It was only then that I got curious and logged on to the Future Awards web page. I didn’t really give much thought to it, even when I discovered I actually made the final list. And then, the invite came Thursday evening. “A Nigerian passport,” as the organisers, tagged it.
So that beautiful evening, I arrived MUSON shortly after the event began. The hall was already filled to capacity. There were no seats in the main arena; at least, that was what I would call it, since other late-comers like myself barely managed to get seats there. I was my usual quiet and composed self when I finally sat down; maybe I didn’t know the gravity or is it importance of what was taking place that night. My confidence remained unshaken. I was just the Funke who never worries about anything. This feeling remained until Dare Art-Alade, one of the night’s compere, announced that the first set of awards were about to be given. Instantly, my stomach tightened. My heart raced. I could not explain the fear that gripped my mind. The tension within was high. In that state, the following lines of William Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads came to my mind, “poetry is a continuous overflow of powerful feeling recollected in tranquillity….” But that evening the overflow of feeling that I experienced was not caused by poetry but fear. The fear that I might lose or win, you’d ask? That I wasn’t sure of, I must confess. You know there are times when one could be overcome by the fear of joy, even when the outcome of the situation is positive.
It was just a kind of feeling that quickly responded to the appeal that the award night had begun in earnest. It was essentially a feeling, but one which did not depend largely on intelligence (in the light of Wordsworth’s words), strengthened and made sensitive and responsive by what I heard from the podium. It was impossible to give specific directions for the cultivation of the feeling for failure or success, even when I had not known the outcome. Little wonder why people never stopped asking what was on my mind that evening. Even when my brother called to congratulate me, the first question he asked was: “How did you feel when your name was called?”
When Tara Fela-Durotoye announced me as the Future Awards Journalist of the Year, I was overwhelmed by the fear of joy. The fact that I won was a mixture of joy and fear such that when I stood on the podium to give a short speech, my voice shook. And Kemi Ajumobi, my colleague here at Business Day, who was in the audience that evening, would never cease to laugh at me for that. On my inside, my confidence was sure but my voice just refused to steady itself. This, I still can’t explain. Could it be because I was conscious of the fact that the other nominees were seated right there in the audience and they could as well have been making that speech and going home with the trophy? Maybe. However, my voice steadied all the same such that Joshua Awesome, a friend, asked when he saw me in the office on Monday, “Your speech last night sounded like a prepared one?” Truth is, it wasn’t so much a prepared one, but one that was a mixture of fear and joy. And that, precisely, was simply the feeling I had on my mind. How about that!