Funmi Iyanda

Stuck between airports. Found these articles interesting. What says you? (A DIFFERENT TYPE OF PORN)- USA Today Newspaper of July 11 and (BULL’S EYE) from July Essence Magazine.

I’ve got a beautiful story to tell you and what perfect day to tell it than this triple 7 day. I of course have the triple 7 line up in my birth date. First a summarized background. If you saw that film pursuit if happiness, remember the bit when Will Smith and his son had slept in the toilet at a train station only for him to need to appear fine and ready for work the next day? Nobody cares about your story just show up and be good. Well l've been in that situation many times and this trip is somewhat like that. The reason for this trip aside from the seminar was that l had bagged a much pursued audience with one of America’s heavy hitters which was bound to impact greatly on my career. To swing it and all the logistics around doing the project l needed quite a bit of money which l didn’t have. I did all l could to get support or sponsorship but didn’t so trusting in the universe, l took out my daughter’s five year investment (l had slaved to save up some money every month and invest for her since she was one) to facilitate it. Last week l was told it was off and l sat staring at the email, numbed. I cant even tell them to reconsider on the basis of the risk l had taken, in business, you come out of the toilet, take a German bath (90s generation anyone?), wear your best rag and do the job.
The journey to this point had started on a similar trip a while back when l was so broke my daughter and l had to stay in this mangy motel, the image of she and l pushing our luggage cart down a mosquito infested (yes there are places like that in America) hallway still brings a smile to my face.

As l weighed my options, l decided to take a walk down Madison Avenue to Barneys. As l walked down the block before Barneys l noticed a nice looking store with an African looking, pregnant model like girl with stunning jet dark skin. Turns out she is Senegalese and her flat mate is the gorgeous Funmi Alaiyemola. She started to show me round and my eyes rested on a lovely maroon eyelet mini dress. The fabric is that cotton owambe party lace we so love in Nigeria and l began to feel suppressed excitement, l checked the label and my suspicions wee confirmed it is Le Shade! I started laughing and crying simultaneously.

Last summer on one of my do it or die trying trips l had needed assistance with settling down to my assignments, l needed someone to help get my daughter to Michigan to stay with family whilst l go to Aspen. In true 9ja solidarity, a friend called a friend who called a friend and that’s how this tall slim dark beauty rushed from church into our hotel room to the rescue. She wore a vivid yellow lace min skirt that l thought was divine but hang on isn’t that our owambe lace? Lara and l clicked off instantly (note our grins above) and she went far beyond expectations to help my daughter and l through out that journey. Now the thing about Lara is that aside her job, she is an aspiring designer who makes her own clothes which had always got people stopping her on the street to ask where she got them. She has an incredible sense of colour and her style is easy, breezy and wearable, using primarily our owambe cotton lace. Because we got on so well we were soon like sisters and this newly wedded younger gal confided her fears hopes and aspirations for her business in me. She had turned a childhood slur (LEPA SHANDY, like me she had been picked on for being skinny growing up) into a business name L~ Shandi. She told me stories of hardship in Nigeria, the journey to America, her mother’s bravery and how her family has overcome serious challenges to get education and make a life in America. Best of all she showed me her little “factory” in the basement. Just some old singer machines and bits o fabric were the tools with which she wove her dreams. She expressed hopes that one day she’ll be distributed all over America and that Nigerians would know her. I said amen with a conviction that it would happen but l had no idea how soon.

Back in SEARLE (that’s the name of the store), l am chatting with Amy from Senegal about Africans and she tells me how proud her mate Funmi Alaiyemola is of Nigeria and how she misses home. I saw Funmi in the 1999 face of Africa finals in Abuja and tipped her to win (as l did Oluchi) she didn’t but became more successful than the eventual winner. I interviewed her soon afterwards and was taken in by her beauty, strength of character and sense of fun. In 1997 l ran a fashion TV show and ushers agency and one of my favourite girls happens to be Funmi’s cousin, she it was who told me how tough it had been for Funmi growing up, loosing her parents and pursuing her dreams. Funmi is one of Africa’s best models and she works and schools out of New York.

As l sat talking to Amy whose husband is in Senegal, my mind is on the millions of Nigerians all over the world toiling and working, all the talents, the skills, the dreams. Same as most of us back at home. With the exception of a few deviant Nigerians and our flawed leaders, Nigerians are by and large beautiful, resilient, intelligent and resourceful people.

Even though l could not afford it, l bought a simple button down mulicolour cotton shift dress from Le Shade. When l called her this morning she protested asking me to come get it at wholesale price. I refused because as a Yoruba woman with trader grand mothers, l know the concept of (se mi lowo), you buy the good to send a message to God as a sacrifice to bless the enterprise. I also talked with my darling best friend Bose, a doctor, scientist, wife and mother who is saving and toiling to complete her research and work on maternal mortality whilst holding down two jobs and consulting and lecturing in LUTH. As l walked out of that store l knew in my core that it is only a matter of time before Le shade makes it to Bergdorf Goodman’s, she is already at many stores including Patricia Fields' the style guru of Sex and the City. I also knew in my heart that my own many years of toil will reap more rewards in due course as will Bose and Remi and Pamela and all those gorgeous Nigerian women (men too) out there. It was with renewed vigour that l returned to my hotel room determined to continue my pursuit of significance, which really is true happiness.

I’ve just had an Oprah moment (go ahead snigger, its okay). I sit here sipping this vile detox juice, having an online emoticons clogged chat with the shrimp whilst catching bits and pieces of the Oprah show and yes you guessed it, she’s talking about weight issues. My phone flashes, it’s a reply to a text l sent to four of my gal pals yesterday. It went like this. “Darling, l’ve just had the most divine orgasm, Thai. Beats the Italian one of last night and the Chinese one of the night before, best of all it was free”. Two days ago, my friend Sumonu Bello Osagie from the Nigerian embassy picked me up at La Guardia. Sumonu was the brainchild and magic genie that facilitated my “Funmi in New York” series in 2003 and he is one of those warm, supportive, happy giants with a great laugh and snazzy style. Once settled in my hotel, he asked me what l wanted to eat with mischief dancing in his eyes. Sumonu knows l love to eat so off we went to Peking Duck just round the corner from the Nigerian embassy. Since then it appears that l have been on one huge gastronomic excursion perhaps to salve the raw nerve exposed by the financial drain and professional disappointment this trip has become. Now l know what you are thinking and this is why l have always hesitated about writing about my insane love of food. As to the where it all go question? Patience, it is tied to my Oprah moment.

July 4 and America is celebrating. I do the touristy thing, put on my MBTs, sling a camera across my chest and start walking and sightseeing. From the Museum of Modern Art to Madison square Garden to Soho, Little Italy and China Town. I go window licking (with window shopping you know you might be able to afford the stuff on display, just max out your credit card, window licking? Not a chance in hell of buying any of it) at certain stores on 5th Avenue and treasure hunting at Barneys, Jeffery’s and all those small indie fashion outlets in hipper parts of town. My shopping rules are to only buy stuff l love (happy gear l call them), at the most reasonable price and only in the styles that flatter me. I don’t do slavish fashion, overt designer billboarding and copycat dressing. I like happy, individual styles and am always looking out for the most fun, individual and body happy people on the streets from Ikeja (hardly ever at those plastic island parties, which is usually a boring monolithic jungle of prescribed, safe, overt, top to toe designer labelled body dysmorphic blandness) to Athens.

Through out my city trawling l stopped to refuel at the many bistros and alfresco restaurants on my path. By evening l get a call from my new friend Vicky (typical strong 9ja woman, widowed single mum of the bright, beautiful, high achieving Efe) and we headed for Yum Yum on 9th for dinner. I am not going to bore you with details of the experience but it did inspire the text message above. After that we drove to the East river for the annual MACY’S fireworks but it was over before we got there. Vicky, sumonu and l had been out to diner and movies the night before, whilst l have been to Balthazar and Fresh for lunch the past two days so it does feel like l am eating my way through the big apple.

Now to my Oprah moment, as l watched the show, l felt the familiar disquiet that had always prevented me from talking about food and weight issues. The fear that because looking the way l do would make it less authentic. As l watched, it suddenly hit me, l too do have body image issues (a woman without any is to be approached with great caution). I hate it when my butt completes a leap some full 60 secs after my feet are back on terra firma, l hate the constant battle to keep my stomach flat (naturally slim people store fat in the stomach more than others), l hate exercise and l love rich comforting food. There, l said it and being my size doesn’t make it any less true. To each her own. I feel liberated to talk about my love for food and the silly tricks l play to combat the inevitable consequence (yes skinny girls have those too, go figure).
I have always loved food as l associate it with my beloved long gone mother. I am also a food snub as l expect food to be prepared and presented with love, passion, attention to detail and creativity so whether it is soufflé like amala with gbegiri from Alhaja in Peckham, tender isi ewu from oron road in Akwa lbom, mussels from Belgo in Camden, lamb from the Berbers on the mountains in Marrakech, oysters from McCormick and Schmick"s or sushi from Nobu. I expect food perfection. Flavourful, colourful, fresh and scrumptious. Perhaps this is my saving grace, as l do not like dead, soulless, inert commercial junk or processed food.
As a result l am a food channel and AA Gill die-hard fan. I love to eat out although Lagos and its overpriced, over hyped, food ignorant, rude staffed restaurants and bars are a challenge. The consequence of my gastronomic excess is that l suffer mild to serious food allergies and intolerances all of which l battle like a trouper with homeopathic remedies. Once my butt response time exceeds 60 secs l detox i.e l eat only raw, living food (fruits, vegetables and complex carbs) for a day and add cardio to my training regime. Those are the days l am most irritable.
I know l am lucky but l feel compelled to ask to be allowed my own slim babe’s weight whines without that bloody disbelieving (sometime playa hating) eyeball roll.
Recently my friend Pamela who is certainly no shrinking violent weight wise (wink, wink, gosh! Pam’s got a chest to slaughter for) came to stay and she it was who pointed out to me that my problem is that l see people first as people and not a weight category but that this is not true for a large majority of people. Maybe it is because of overcoming my own past crushing insecurities about my body (skinny angles and bones, k legs and squashed nose) but l see people first as a personality type as against a dress size. Thus l'm always perplexed when perfectly gorgeous women whine about wanting to be thinner on one hand but will not let me whine about my own gravity battling issues on the other. Gals, lets be democratic about this and let us all media confused, body x raying females give ourselves a frigging break preferably over some hot chocolate and macadamia nut and raisin muffin

Due to some genetic anomaly, l am given to deep, oft convoluted and confused thinking which my friends swear must be one of the reasons for my high metabolism, l burn fuel just staying alive, thinking. I can vividly remember that at age 7 l used to sit and stare at the stars and try to understand existence, why am l here, why me and not some other kid for my mama, how do l add up in comparison to all these other people and the earth and the stars, where will l go after here and what is it like there. The Christian religion provided some answers soon enough but because of my rather colourful journey through the Christian faith (baptized catholic, raised cherubim and seraphim then Jehovah’s witnesses, became a reluctant born again Pentecostal in young adulthood and now ….) the answers where often conflicting. For example l was told to be sinless and blameless so l might go to heaven by most but the witnesses said the reward was an earthly paradise. What constitute sinlessness and blamelessness is hardly uniform except on the topic of sex. Religion has an obsession with sex. The concept of heaven and hell strangely never had the desired effect on me. I was neither afraid of hell nor desirous of heaven but l wanted to please God and honour the earth and other humans. Hell never scared me because in my childhood mental gymnastics l had become convinced that since the sphere before here is an unknown, unremembered entity, it either doesn’t exist or is not affected by my actions or inactions in this sphere besides if one is to burn in fire perpetually and eternally, it becomes the norm and therefore painless. Similarly as hell failed to strike the required mortal fear in me so did heaven fail to arouse the great desire. It just always seems to me that heaven will bore me to tears. Clean, blameless, white clothed, singing people eternally happy and smiley? Where is the challenge? If happiness is eternal and the norm how will we appreciate it as a desirous emotion since we have nothing to compare it with. In an existence where it is all done, all perfect where is the joy? Unless the nature of man will change, in which case we became other types of creatures, the eternal pain or happiness argument never worked for me. Ditto the concept of paradise, l am more inclined to accept a utopia on earth but it still seem to me that it would be a bland boring existence where the plants, season and people are perfect and healthy and happy whatever they do or do not do.

However since l am a believer in intelligent creation whether He or She is God or a non embodied intelligence, and desirous of a mostly happy existence here on earth in my allotted time and a similar existence for the largest majority of all such fellow humans on this sojourn with me, l am interested in understanding the nature of that intellect and the rules which work best to create a mostly happy existence for the largest majority. That is my spiritual quest, not out of fear or selfish desire or egotistical quest for immortality but a desire to make the best of this gift of life that l have and know for myself and the rest of creation and to happily expire into the nothingness that l came from. Now what is so scary about that?
Note of course that all this introspection today is the result of being bored stiff in paradise, all the order, beauty, security, the clean, happyish, fit, healthy mostly white (The waiters ignored me for 30 minutes at a restaurant yesterday until l asked if l was required to dance naked before getting a bowl of mussels) people are beginning to get on my nerves.

I leave Aspen this morning for the flawed big apple, l am more comfortable with the constant pursuit of happiness and perfection. How will we recognise pleasure if we have never felt pain?

I was startled when a fellow from India said to me that after reading the CV of the fellows from around the world and America and absorbing the quality of the on going conversations, she cant help wondering what the heck she is doing here. Startling because in comparison to her and all the others l am wondering what the heck l am doing here.That is the beauty of this convocation of all the classes of Henry Crown fellows and the classes of the leadership initiative fellows from all over the world. The amount of brainpower, accomplishment, human values and the potential for moving from success to significance in each plenary session is overwhelming. No matter how well you might
be doing, measurable less in terms of career success but in terms of influence on the development and growth of the good society in your own space or sphere you feel challenged to do even more. Here your core human values and intellectual abilities are stroked, toned, honed and challenged to greater endeavour. It is all the brainchild of one incredible human being called Keith Berwick (more on Keith and his wife Sheena later). The past few days have been challenging but rewarding for me as l struggle with jet lag, dehydration, home sickness (l want eba and okro, my daughter, my friends) and engage with some of the brightest minds around the world on diverse issues. I have concentrated on the challenge of delivering access, equity and quality in education to all as well as examining how business can help to create opportunities for the majority poor. I shall share thought on this in subsequent posts. One of my favourite sessions here was the afternoon chat with professor Wole Soyinka. I sat there blushing with pride as he spoke and engaged the audience. I even managed to stand up and ask what many of the other fellows have described as brave, hard but important questions. I am equally honoured and humbled to be here and I feel that in many ways the universe prepares me as she does us all to be so much more.

I woke up this morning and the sun is dancing on my face through the
five-foot windows in the bedroom of my chalet. I look out and l see
the rows of trees stretched as far as the eye can see with beautiful
homes and gentle streams nettling amongst the vegetation even as they
all are gently cradled in the bosom of an imposing mountain. Is that
snow I see on top of the mountain, in July? I tried to understand the
song the birds are singing even as l recalled the sight of the
indolent deer jauntily strolling by as we returned from the party at a
ranch last night. Dele Olojede had said earlier that he and some of
the Henry Crown fellows had been interrupted from their wine and
cigars by a benevolent bear the night before. In this my second visit
to Aspen and stay at Aspen meadows l am still in awe at the sheer
physical beauty of the town, the utopia like quality of the lifestyle
and the demonstration of human capabilities evident in the landscaped
mountains and exotic living. As the brilliantly sardonic and American
upper middle class James keeps assuring me, this is dreamland by
anybody's standard. They even have parking lots for private jets and l
cannot describe to you the beauty, style and grace of the many homes l
have visited here. By the way this is a community where the average
corner shop is a Prada store and the community rag is a free, all
glossy magazine with more high end luxury product adverts than all the
magazines in Nigeria and most of the ones in south Africa. As l said
it is dreamland even for America and with the descent of the fellows
from Africa, this is the first ever-largest collection of black people
seen at one time in the town. We were about 25. The other thing about
this community apart from the insane wealth or because of it is that
the people are super fit and healthy, everyone looks tanned, fit hard,
strong and ageless. It must be all that hiking, kayaking,
mountaineering, paragliding and botox. There are more facelifts per
square metre in Aspen than LA and l have am yet to see a bad hair cut
or non blow dried hair especially amongst the older citizens.

Growing up as a Jehovah's Witness l became familiar with an image of
paradise from the many pictorial representation in Watchtower, Awake
and the many books and magazines they produce. The clean, safe
environment, the happy, smiling, healthy, youthful, (granted no botox
and facelifts) fit (come to think of it, there was never an obese
person in sight in those pictures), people and the trusting
interaction between man and beast (aside the deers and bears there are
dogs of all pedigree crawling out of every crevice here). I was told
that all l needed to do was live a blameless, sinless life and preach
that life to others then l would end up in paradise. Now that l have
seen the location of paradise, l know that all l need to do is make or
marry tons of money and l can move over to paradise

Its 4.53am at Denver airport, l am sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, typing furiously away. All around me there are snoring people of different nationalities covered in standard issue airport blankets and lying on camp beds, chairs and the floor. We all blur into a mass of unremarkable humanity except that if you look closely, l am wearing diamond studs and Chanel flats. What kind of homeless bag lady wears diamonds and Chanel? Well it's a long story.

2days ago l sat on my bed at 6am and watched the shrimp get ready for school, my standard red hard box travel box is packed and she keeps glancing at it suspiciously but perhaps unwilling to know the truth refrained from asking the obvious question. I did not know if l should say goodbye to her, as l had no idea at that moment if l was going to make the Virgin flight, l had no ticket you see. We both kept our peace and she left for school. I said a quiet prayer and chant and l left for the airport. That was when the drama began, because of the strike and the closure of banks and other personal drama l won’t bother you with, l had not been able to buy a ticket for the ACT II convocation on ethical values driven leadership l was billed to attend in Aspen Colorado.

It so happens that l did get a ticket at the airport that morning and had a good flight on board Virgin (addicted to the brand). I flew with Chris Ngige, Kanu Nwankwo, Asari Dokubo's cousin Princewill, Saheeto and Julius Agwu who insists on French kissing (no tongue) me every time we meet. With such an eclectic collection of travel companions, the conversation on board was illuminating but a story for another day. I spent the night in London and was at the airport by 6.30am for my uneventful flight to New York flight.

I arrived New York at noon and swapped my UK SIM for the American one (l no dey roam) praying that l would still have credit (minutes to Americans and airtime to South Africans) to call a friend who was supposed to have got me a flight to Denver and Aspen. He says l might be able to get on an American Airlines flight to Denver so l dash and caught a train to the right terminal only to be told that l won't make it through security on time. My friend buys another ticket online and l dash between terminals to get a boarding pass only to be told that flight had been cancelled. A few more frantic calls and l get my flight switched to a later one. In all of this my credit runs out and of course this is post 9/11 America so you cant just buy credit anywhere or get a new phone without plenty forms an registration. In London and Lagos, you can buy from the corner shop or traffic. So my benefactor buys some online and texts it to me but l had forgotten how to load it and had no credit to call him back so l am confronted with another annoying American habit. Nobody has the information you need unless you go through some complex officialdom just to credit a bloody phone! Finally did it through customer service. By now, l’d been travelling for 36 hours and was exhausted. Before l left home, l had suffered some weird food allergy and my face is a war zone of spots and acne so l am trying to eat healthy, in America? As l looked around at all the fast food, greasy food, dead food and sweet over processed food on offer l decided to go to the Virgin lounge. Another dash across terminals and l am in this glorified school canteen that is the virgin lounge in New York! It does not bear any resemblance to the virgin clubhouse at Heathrow and is even worse than the one in Lagos. The world weary waitress informs me only the bites are ready at that time and after l had the bland chicken noodle soup and pathetic bread roll which she insist must be called dinner roll (no granary or whole wheat here o) l left and proceeded to a restaurant were l ordered a huge fry up, with carrot cake and cookies, fuck the breakout, l need comfort food and might as well resign myself to the fact that l shall systematically poison my system with bad food whilst here as usual. At 7pm, l dashed across terminals to board my flight only to be told it had been delayed due to bad weather. 3 hours later, they board us and 2 and half hours after that the plane finally took off by which time it was 1am, l had been at that airport for almost 13 hours. There goes my hotel reservation and payment for a hotel in Denver as we arrived at 4am and l slump on the floor with the other weary, stranded and in transit travellers.

That was earlier today. After 48 hours, travelling l finally arrived Aspen at 9am and had only enough time for a quick shower and change of clothes before proceeding to the conference building. The day had been very eventful but that is yet another story. Aspen is a balm to my badly frayed nerves and my suite at the gorgeous Aspen Meadows is fantastic with the huge windows in my bedroom offering an incredible view of the mountains. America may be one of my least favourite places to visit these days what with the paranoia and non-visitor friendly facilities but Aspen soothes my spirits and the intellectual discourse of the next few days will nourish my soul. If only l could do something about the craters on my face, this even as l tuck into my third desert today, a most divine chocolate mousse.