Funmi Iyanda

Talk about serendipity. 4pm yesterday l returned to my office after doing 5 hours in the studio to record the show, l had just done a show on the Darfur crisis and was feeling emotionally drained. I got on the computer to check my mails and keep a vigil for bellanaija's (still trying to be 1st) weekend post. Amongst my correspondence was a chain mail (l hate them) from a dear friend of mine. They were iconic images of poverty with a message for us to be thankful to God for your lives and not to waste food and water as well as a warning not to break the chain. Maybe it was the exhaustion but this was the reply l sent her

"l have seen many of these pictures before and l am shocked when people profess not to knowing these realities. Even more vexatious is the call to thank God for what we have, and ourselves. How totally selfish! Such pictures should inspire us to work for societies and a world where such atrocities are not allowed to happen. God did not sanction that this happen to any body and that we did not experience or are not experiencing it is often a matter of chance i.e. not being born at the wrong place and the wrong time. The Pulitzer winner of the last picture committed suicide not really because he wasn't thankful for his life but probably because he was wracked by his inability to save that child. We can save children like these, we can eradicate poverty globally if we thought less about ourselves".

After a couple of hours, l finished work and gave up the vigil. 6am today and l go back to Bella and wade into the controversy around her post on celebrities giving back so l know this charity discourse is pursuing me. This therefore is my widow's mite.

As a background let me state that my first television show 12 years ago was on street children and quickly "degenerated" into a rescue mission for runaway and stolen kids (story for another day). A defect in my journalistic instinct is an inability to see people as just story. We are currently working on the story of a 6 year old that was raped and we will not air the story unless there was a way to bring justice and succour to that family. Therefore in the past twelve years l have used TV as a billboard for change, often being the first and consistent media promoter of thought, stories, issues and projects along those lines. I have never accepted payment for such, not even a hamper ☺. Given such a background, people are often shocked when l say l don't believe in charity and quickly add it to their "Funmi Iyanda is crazy list". However what l mean is that the word charity like the word tolerance, accords the bestower a sense of superiority, a salve to the ego, which has nothing to do with the true emotions that promote change. Also if we all did our bit in the universal scheme of things without undue avarice (many state policies in Nigeria are an implementation of the board resolution of companies owned by a few favoured ones) we will have fewer "charity cases". During a keynote address on the relevance of the Singaporean experience to Africa in 1993 Lee Kuan Yew spoke tongue in cheek abut meeting the Nigerian minister of finance Chief Festus Okotie Eboh in 1956 and how the chief had told him that he was eager to leave politics to devote time to his business; a shoe factory and that he had increased taxes to protect the viability of the shoe factory. Injustice happens because some people perpetuate it but mostly because many people allow it. Every time we refuse to stand up for systems, structures and thought that strengthens a society's ability to grow and prosper the majority; we create a few hundred more "charity cases". My other pet peeve with the charity tag is that it is often seen as an occasion, something we do at certain times of the year or at a point in our life or when we have certain resources or attain certain visibility or position. The need for intervention arises everyday all around us and everybody can help, right here, right now. The question should not be what are celebrities giving back but what are we all giving back? Often times it is not the books (these are welcome as are our time, knowledge and skills) we donate but the important decision we make everyday in our offices and homes and how it affects others.

My biggest charity peeve are the ones who are profiting from the poverty, ignorance, lack and disease of the very ones their ilk had created with selfish policies down the decades. They are the "inspirers". They set out from day one to inspire, role model and educate the rest of us. That is open fraud. Bill Gate who own one of the biggest, most powerful charities in the world set out to build computers, charity found him, Oprah just wanted to do a damn good talk show about issues and challenges and people, charity found her. In its true self, charity finds you. You cannot appoint yourself an inspiration or a role model or a hero, others bestow this upon up you when they are inspired by your body of work, actions or utterances. Nigeria is full of motivational speakers, role models and inspirers but very little innovations, inventions and true interventions. It the same "so much God so little good" scenario. The shame is that a lazy, poor and easily buyable media promotes such whilst ignoring the true silent workers of charity. They are silent usually because they have no time, money or mindset for mindless promotion. They also are usually people who do it only because it needs to be done and because they cannot rest unless they were doing something about it.

(Crazy week, living on adrenalin and popcorn so why don't l share this article l wrote 8 years ago for TEMPO magazine with you?)

Sorry the first paragraph was missing when posted

Perhaps, it is time to tell you about my first trip to Ghana in 1995. It was some months to the 1996 Nations Cup Competition scheduled to hold for the first time in post apartheid South Africa. I was part of a crew that was supposed to document the preparations and spirit in the sixteen countries that qualified for the championship. Ghana was one of them, so my colleague Kunle a cameraman and were to go to Accra. Now I must tell you about one of my favourite nay, my favourite person a certain old Ghanaian called Mr. Laud (pronounced lord). Aside from being a sweet person one of my greatest fans and of course the only one who can read my hand writing, he is also one of the unluckiest people I have ever met. It is a running joke amongst us all that he had seen all the ill luck there is to seen in one lifetime. He has fallen off a moving train and a Molue and an okada and survived all. He has lost his money to tricksters, fake landlords and 419ers. He has been robbed often and thrown out of his house too many times to recount, actually, his last house was burnt down with all his possessions on one occasion and his wife left him overnight. Worse has happened that I don't think I should mention, that is, if I haven't said so much already. We love him and we never forget his birthday, for he was born on the 13th of February! The point for this story is that our Mr. Laud had wanted to return Ghana forever but every time he saves up enough money and is ready to go, something unlucky happens to stop him. So, it was decided that for that assignment he would go with us both as guide and as a treat to him. We flew whilst he went ahead with our money by road. He was to book our hotel, get a car to ferry us around, set up our interviews before we arrive.

On arrival at kotoka Airport in Accra, Mr. Laud was waiting quite all right but he had only arrived Accra hours before us. He had spent four days on the road; he was arrested, jailed and robbed by the customs officials. I had a hundred dollar note on me and we had a one-week assignment to carry out, Should we get back on the next plane to Nigeria? Not so, Ms Iyanda. I was young, eager, stubborn and determined to do the work {I have changed ko? ;-)} I persuaded Kunle to see it as a great adventure, secure in the erroneous belief (and seconded by a Mr. Laud who had not
been to his country in over a decade) that my silly hundred-dollar note will take us far because I thought the Ghanaian economy was still lying cold in the grave.

It did turn out a great adventure; we stayed in a seedy little room, which had no lock, no water, a rickety fan and insects galore. We lived on a diet of garri, salty water and fried fish with occasionally watery beans and yam for the week. We had to get Mr. laud's cousin to drive us to the city centre everyday from where we walked, lugging cameras and bags to book interviews, do interviews and film the sights, We did run into interesting people, some coke heads and prostitutes at our hotel and Mr. Laud's sister but my most enduring memory is that of this hopeful footballer who ran the length of the bridge near the central market every night at 9 pm. I noticed him on our second night on the way to the fried fish place; he had to train in the nights because he worked during the day. His hope and determination was humbling for me, he did not even have running shoes.

The sports minister was out of town when we arrived but by the day before we were scheduled to leave he returned. We decided to see him since we had completed almost all our assignment but his interview. It was a risk, since we knew that meant a day and half of starvation and a slim chance of getting past protocol. Alas, we were ushered into his office without much ceremony. This man received us and gave us a jeep to take us to Obuasi Goldfields (50kms of great scenery from Accra) to film the football team and the new stadium of the company. We had our
first decent meal of the week at Obuasi, returned to Accra, conducted the interview (teeth clenched as l had PMT on top of our woes) and the minister gave us a car to take us the airport on time to catch our flight back to Nigeria. Incidentally, we never used the materials we laboured for in Ghana because; Abacha pulled Nigeria out of the championship. However, we still share fond laughs over that hundred-dollar trip to Ghana from which I returned thinner, darker but victorious. It was black coffee no sugar, no milk but oh what an adrenaline rush.

Back in the days when l did the local daily 2 hour live breakfast format of the show, one of the things that kept me going was the many segment presenters I had found to work with. The totally insanely hilarious mama and papa nothing spoil, the sports whiz kids, the cuddly cook aunty Mopile, the twitchy IT guys, the mischievous Dr Ogaga. Oh the days of innocence. Goes without saying that it was a tough show to do and not very rewarding financially but our passion and resilience kept us going.

The entertainment and fashion segments had the largest turn over of presenters as the boys and gals got more and more successful in their individual careers. It was one large TV family and it is my unending joy that all who have left NEW DAWN are incredibly successful in many spheres and scattered around the world. One of them is Sade Popoola who came to me one day and quietly said she was taking her children and leaving the country back to England to refocus. I didn't argue as l could see she was at the point where stepping back to go forward was necessary. We have kept in touch on and off over the years so you can imagine my joy when Sade called me and said to me, Funmi I’m on to something, l'll mail you. When l saw what Sade was up to, l kept grinning like a fool at my silent computer even as the goose pimples rose on my arm. Yeees! l thought, Sade has found the light at the end of the tunnel and put it into stylish bags. The idea is genius in its simplicity and l keep wondering why no one else has done it before now. What do you think?

www.flickr.com

Two things that kill me about Nigerians. One, the insane search for Nigerian food once they step out of Nigeria even when they are returning to Nigeria the next day. The other is a similar lack of interest in the history, monuments, arts, culture and lifestyle of the places they visit. Now l know generalization is a form of intellectual laziness and there are many exceptions to this rule but most of those exceptions are not in government delegations. I have been to two Olympic Games, two world cup finals and several athletic meets around the world. When I'm lucky l get a company to sponsor a travelogue, other times l skimp and save to get there. Been doing this since l was 25. I am of course a failed athlete as l am athletic in build but never did any sports or exercised in my life until three tears ago. I love the unalloyed display of the great capabilities of the human body and spirit (not to mention the superb physiques on display, oh those swimmers' body) as well as the opportunity to experience other people, cultures, arts and life. At each and every such meet over the past decade and half l have noticed that most other Nigerians l run into especially those on government delegations neither attend the events nor have interest in anything other than shopping and whoring.

So it was that in 2004 we were surrounded with sports, culture, history, gastronomic excellence, and sensual stimulation of epic proportion in Athens but my 9ja brethren (ratio of 8 to 2) were usually to be found either eating pepper soup and haggling with human trafficked Nigerian prostitutes on the Idumota look alike, rather sleazy geroniom (renamed Nigeria) street or they were esconded with same at a certain island resort 45 mins from Athens. One such official mistook me for a Nigerian athlete and started to rub my knee under the table until l delivered a kick in the region of his groin. The plight of the Nigeria female athlete is a story for another day.Anyway, l thoroughly loved Athens, the hot weather, the beaches, the laid back sensual Mediterranean lifestyle, the food, the islands, the night life and of course the museums and the majestic Acropolis. Athens heaved with the living and the living dead but l couldn't find other Nigerians to experience it all with as most l spoke to did not share my fascinations for trampling around museums, flea markets,
restaurants, clubs and the notorious hedonistic nudist island mykonos. l therefore threw myself into experiencing Athens from a worms eye view all alone armed only with an expensive NIKON camera and a sun hat. Everyday l went from the different stadia to either the museums, the market district or the beach and by evening l ended up at the fabulous Psiri club district stumbling from jazz clubs to salsa clubs to hip-hop clubs high on nothing but adrenalin and the joy of being alive and of course incredible Greek cuisine which can still be bought at 4am side by side old couples holding hands right before l hail a cab to take me back to my apartment for a 3 hour sleep before l start again the next day. Not once did l feel unsafe as a woman on my own. Of course l had read about the seedier districts and stayed away from those but imagine a single young attractive female mostly in shorts and tank top, cavorting around town with an expensive camera slung around her neck in any part of Nigeria. It is one of the reasons l laugh when we begin to claim that we can hold such international competitions.

All of these thoughts came to mind recently when l was trying to explain how hostile the Nigerian environment particularly Lagos is to women, children and older people. It is hostile to all humans but especially hostile to the female humans. Once l was driving through Ebute Metta around 10pm and everywhere was dark as usual save for flickering lanterns from food peddlers near the mosque at Evans square. Most people had been scared off the streets by insecurity that is highly aided by lack of electricity. I remember Ebute meta of my childhood, where you can read by the street light at 10pm and there was hot tuwo to be bought at 2am on the way home from the cinema or disco clubs (ok so l was too young to do the club and cinema but l saw my sisters and their boyfriends go out with the afros and bell bottoms and longed to grow up so l could do same). That Ebutemetta is long gone, of the people on the street that night last week 98% were male. On any Sunday or public holiday, the spaces at street corners and under flyovers are taken up by boys playing football, no girls in sight. The question is where are the women? How do women (especially young poor ones) exercise, play or socialize in the city where you can't even walk? Think about it, how many public (where dem dey sef) office or even home toilets are designed with the woman's need in mind? When last weekend l, my designer friend Remi, married doctor friend Bose and young lawyer friend Tayo got dolled up and piled into one car around midnight to go dancing at LaCasa, it was the twitching curtains of our neighbours that reminded us of how unusual this was, of course our neighbours think we are either mad or immoral women going straight to hell. It is not only unsafe but not acceptable particularly with older or and married women. This is norm in many other places including Accra and Togo where young girls and older women dress up however they like and go out alone or in groups at night without fear.

I was transported back to my Athens experience when l saw the fabulous film 300 recently, in fact on the eve of the gubernatorial election. I sat there watching with mixed emotions. On one hand l was enthralled with the photography and the marriage of art and technology that went into the production. On the other hand l experienced the same eerie sense of awe l felt walking through the old plaka city and the Acropolis in Athens even as the story of the great brave Leonidas (my fav Belgian choc brand is named after him and the bods of the actors in that film was yummy), the Spartans and the Persians unfolded in cinematic beauty. The Greek myths, stories, gods and history would make great retelling in Yoruba. Imagine that scene where Leonidas kicked the Persian emissary into the abyss (cue KONGA's song "eju won si kanga", throw them in the well ) shouting this is Sparta! There are many parallels to that story and our current reality (as we have refused to leave 200BC in our mind). The paedophilic, immoral, amoral bribe taking spiritual elders, the patriarchal, sycophantic, easily manipulated state council, the preference of ceremonies over function, the strong but acquitisient women. The only thing we don't have or have killed are those great, passionate, thinking, strong Spartan warriors lead by a charismatic heroic leader. I sat and watched the film and l prayed to the universe for such a leader for Nigeria on that Night. However even more so l cheered at a scene that would resonate with most women in Nigeria and a scene l am convinced need to occur in Nigerian to lead a new reality. The devious prime minister
had trapped the queen into having sex with him to save her husband and the kingdom. As a woman, she had nothing to exchange for a chance to stand before the council and plead that they go against the advice of the bribe taking paedophilic (unknown to or unacknowledged by the people) elders and send in the troops to assist Leonidas and the 300 soldiers but her body which she humiliating did. On noticing that her words had begun to sway the council, he steps forward and accused her of adultery and whoring. Of course the council turns against her but instead of whimpering away in shame, she grabs his sword and impaled him to death spilling the bribe money he had himself received from the Persians along with his blood. This led the council to finally do the right thing. Look if you haven't do go and see the movie.

I, on behalf of all long suffering agreeable Nigerian women can tell you that we know how she felt, this society lassos you, reels you in and pulls you to the ground and then turns around to call you names. The average girl in Nigeria has even fewer opportunities to fully explore her physical, mental and creative capabilities; she is honoured for little else order than glorified slavery either to a husband, father, parents, siblings or society. Once she deviates from the norm or is forced to use the only thing (what is corporate marketing other than thinly disguised prostitution) society leaves her with, same society turns around and calls her a prostitute. Even the saintly education minister and former finance minister were called Baba's girlfriends. My question is, when will Nigerian women stop thinking that by being quiet, godly, wifely and unobtrusive, they will gain respect? It is only when we turn the blade in the flesh of the oppressor that all will know how we hurt and then we may be able to mobilize the young, the sane and even the reluctant by the sheer force of our refusal to bow no more to walk a new walk that might help build a society where a single female tourist can experience the beauty of our land and lifestyle without fear. A society where borderline statutory rape of minor is not considered cultural once the offending bastard offers bride price for the 13-year-old child.


Have a great weekend people and BTW,Mrs. Somebody you go girl, you can do it, l am watching and hailing you o.

Other pictures here

I have always liked Shan George. At every encounter with her over the last few years l found her funny, completely down to heart and strangely self-depreciating. Last week, she walked into the studio full of life, asking for local rice and joking about her fading black
eye, the result of an attack by hoodlums on Election Day on her way back from the studio where she'd been editing her work. l had her on the "get better" edition of the show; our last interview had been about four years ago in the heat of the so-called nude film scene.

That interview was memorable and this caught me completely off guard. l had set out to talk about her broken marriages and ended up unearthing the story of a courageous search for self, education and love. She told the story of a poor mixed race child whose father died at five and whose auxiliary nurse mother barely managed to pay her way through secondary school in the village. She told of watching TV in groups through the window at the only house with a TV set in the village and wanting to be on TV too. Somehow she believed education would get her there. At 15 she was married off to a much older man on the promise that he'll educate her. 2 children, six years and many beatings later and the promise of education looked like a mirage. At each beating, she runs to her mother, her only relative who sternly orders her back to her husband and who informs her that if she leaves the marriage she had no home with her.

One day at age 21, Shan walks out on the marriage and keeps walking, living on the streets for a while before a kind lady took her in from whom she started learning
dress making and working. It took 8 years but Shan finally makes it into University of Lagos describing the day she got the admission letter the happiest of her life. As a student, she started acting and became one of Nollywood's biggest stars but a second marriage to a London based Nigerian ended up being a cage and the man cheating her with anything that moves. Strangely when she left him after catching
him practically pants down, she is the one who is castigated. The rest of the story including earning her children's love and respect through the years, maintaining a good relationship with her first husband, her work and her quest for happiness is compelling. The studio audience and I were mesmerized by her story but mostly by the way she told it.She spoke with a matter of fact wit and lack of bitterness that was
endearing, only giving vent to occasional irritation at being so
misunderstood.

Here are highlights from the show.

Oh you selfish folk of blogosville, you wan chop alone chop quench? Why didn't anyone see it fit to mention in passing that Baba Alaye was back? Not even Jeremy (Naijablog) the most trusted blogger in Nigeria. I don't get it, just one week of not checking and one month of holding back from joining the horde begging the hilarious, irreverent son of a … (na true say he is HIS son? Wont be surprised, that arrogance, earthily wicked sense of humour, that conspicuous reference to his looks or possible lack of it) to come back and he does when l was distracted. Bella was first, the bitch ☺! Been trying to be first on Bella and Babaalaye's blogs for a while. One day… Meanwhile whilst I'm in this confessional mode, l do solemnly declare that l too have a crush on Baba Alaye, it's all that undisguisable thrusting alpha maleness mixed with humour. I wont even hold it against him if he does turn out to be Baba Kekere, you don't choose your parent. Only down side is his devotion to TMINX, a sex god in love is just a Greek tragedy waiting to happen (just watch what will become of Brad Pitt). Age difference? I have Demi Mooric appeal, l'll never age.

BTW there is an interesting post on Jeremy's blog about OBJ and his
stepson Tunde Bayewu.

The really interesting thing about these elections and its troublesome
fall out is that it was all completely unnecessary. It is my opinion
that Yar' Adua would have won the presidential elections without any
arm-twisting basically because the other top contenders had too much
baggage. My gut instinct is that the majority of Nigerians may have
nothing for him, but they have nothing against him either. The
roforofo fight between OBJ and Atiku had tarnished them both
irrevocably and Buhari does have the albatross of past human right
violations and accusations of religious intolerance. Yar' Adua on the
other hand is an unknown but unthreatening entity that with the deep
campaign pocket and support of the incumbent was almost certain to
win. What might have shifted the equation would have been a coalition
of all the other candidates and a pooling together of their resources,
political machinery and emotional capital. That would have been
strategic and perhaps effective but it would have required a subsuming
of personal ambitions and egos, something we are truly terrible at.
This was the case in 2003 when the elections were marred by massive
rigging and violence which have now been surpassed. It was true then
that Obasanjo would most likely have won and PDP would have had a
majority at the federal legislature as well as in the executive and
legislative arm in several states. It would not have affected their
majority if they had conceded a few states in a free and fair
election. 2003 landslide victory amidst blatant irregularities paved
the way for 2007's clean sweep in an election described as one of the
worst ever conducted on the continent. It is unnatural in any
political sphere especially one as diverse as Nigeria's is to have
such a monolithic power structure, it is untrue to life. If you look
closely however it is symptomatic of a deeper cultural phenomenon that
(as my wise friend Kwabena says) is rooted in our ego based
patriarchy.

Our leaders, our men and by extension our society thinks that being in control is a complete annihilation of contrary thought, opinion, ideas, ideal, goals, religion and worldview. The most haunted people in Nigeria are the most rational, problem solving, questioning, individual, creative, systematic, process driven and non-religious. Even worse when any such accursed is female. So power and respect would mean a clean sweep of opposing viewpoints by any means necessary be it in the home, school, office or political office. This of course is a strategy that belongs firmly in the 16th century, which is where we insist on staying in many aspects of life.

A strategy that the majority of the world has found to be least effective in contemporary times, recently resuscitated by George Bush to colossal failure. In a world were the talk is about leadership based on skills that women are in particular suited to i.e. persuasion, negotiation, team building, adaptability and nuanced diplomacy based on deeper understanding of other cultures and people. Did you see Pelosi is Iran? It is that intolerance of difference (camouflaging fear and ignorance) which is often manifest as egoistic aggression and violence that is at the root of our gradual descent into a homogenous society polarized by religion
and money, with only one possible bleak outcome.

Please please Dede and co if na joke stop am oh. What do they (the judges) mean that this cabaret performance by Jodie was a great rendition of Tina Turners 80s hit What's Love Got To Do With it? I don't understand the language of Foster and Nana who are mostly grunting or grinning but surely Dede you know better. As a devoted lifelong fan of Tina turner who knows all her songs by heart, have all the videos and plays Proud Mary everyday, l can tell you that Jodie MURDERED that song, simply just murdered it. This is not a case of interpreting it differently but of killing the song, then murdering it. As Fela would say, "na real dead bodi get accident yeepa" rendition.

What is with that awful dress and spangly belt that made the poor rather short girl look stocky? With her lack of height and curvy but heavy proportions she needed an ultra short dress (or short shorts like she wore once) or a long sleek dress to give her height and elongate her silhouette. With that dress her nice enough legs just looked stumpy and comparing them (that's you magic baby) to Tina's toned, shapely and fabulous legs is sacrilege. I have nothing against Jodie who did a brilliant rendition of an Aretha Franklin number a few weeks ago but this week no be am at all at all and Simon Cowell would agree with me. My favourites last Sunday were Timi and Temitayo. And the person who should go and ought to have gone since is Jerrylin.

So l sit here this morning pensive, it took all of 3 minutes for me to
cast my vote on Saturday, 3 minutes. The week before l had stood in
line in the sun for two hours, hat and sunglasses firmly on, large
bottle of water in hand as resolutely determined as most of my fellow
country men to cast my vote. This weekend, the polling booth was a
ghost town, my people had lost hope, l voted and left, because l had
an access car, l had observed proceeding from the Alimosho area,
through Agege, Ikeja, to Maryland and the apathy was palpable. The
streets were empty as boys took to the highway playing football. Close
monitoring of news reports (galaxy TV was commendable) all day showed
that this was the situation nationwide along with late or non arrival
of ballot material and the usual ballot snatching/ stuffing,
harassment and intimidation.

I am therefore in a bit of confusion as to how the high numbers that have and are coming in have been achieved. In the past hour l have read most of today's headlines and top stories online and the most unsettling are the foreign ones. Unsettling because one is forced to see one's self and nation through the eye of the outsider and we look like all those little malfunctioning nations (some pre war) that one reads about with a mixture of pity, disrespect and alarm. Just read this report as an example. 2003 elections set a bad precedence that smoothened the path for the perpetuation of such temerity as we are witnessing. It is as though Nigerians are being told to do our worst by those who know that our worst is to sigh, complain and leave them to God.

As we countdown to tomorrow's elections, the tension on the streets
has reduced, at least in Lagos but l suspect that voter apathy has set
in as the shenanigans of the past week has convinced many that their
votes will either not count, be counted or allowed to happen. One
interesting footnote to these elections of course is the vigour of the
media campaign especially in Lagos. The debates in particular provided
much beer parlour fodder, however is it just me or is everyone else
tired of the unending political bulk text messaging? Just as it happened last week, less than 24 hours to the commencement of the next set of election and my phone service has gone wonky, l hear the other networks are no better. One of the alleged reasons is the last minute campaign bulk text messaging to subscribers. As a rule, no more electioneering advertisements can be done on the conventional media platforms 24 hours to elections so the text and phone campaigns are intensified by those candidates who can afford it. I don't know what the "legalese" is or clearly understand how it works but isn't this aninvasion of privacy?

In fact before last Saturday's elections one candidate had a system in place that means you get a phone call from a 444 (my phone has erased the record) number and a recorded campaign message plays into your ears. At first l thought, it was a crank caller but it soon became clear that it was a rather desperate campaign strategy. That phone call came in over 5 times in a 7 hour period, even during a meeting, ensuring that l did not vote (not that l intended to in the first place) for such an irritant candidate. I am all for innovation and using IT solutions for sundry challenges but the text/phone political campaign is vexatious. Worse is the effect it
seem to have on the efficiency of the system, surely it cannot be more profitable for the networks to trade such wanton use of their networks for customer satisfaction and efficiency? Or am l being hormonal??

Pix:Sam Okpodu and the girls
As we grapple with our own problems here in Nigeria, l cannot help but
be transfixed by the horror of the campus shooting reports coming out
of Virginia Tech in America. The reports are even more eerie for me
because in 1999, I stayed in one of those dormitories where the
shooting began. I had been doing a sports travel diary out of America
during the FIFA Female World Cup. After the finals l flew from LA to
Chicago and then to Maryland and had to drive to Roanoke to visit our
friend Sam Okpodu. Sam, ex-Green Eagle star is a decorated football
coach in America. At that time, he was the female football coach at VT
and he was conducting a summer school for girls aged between 9 and 15 during the campus summer break. I recall teasing Sam about the fact that l could count the number of black faces l saw in my one-week stay on one hand. That community is so suburban, middle class, white and peaceful that my mind cannot comprehend how such a heinous crime could be committed there. Sam eventually (on Segun Odegbami's persuasion) resigned his job and came home to coach the Nigerian Falcons only to be thoroughly frustrated out of the job (story for another day). After three years, he returned to America and is now in South Carolina. I sit here in my Lagos home far away from Virginia but my mind is on those beautiful lawns of Virginia Tech, l still have my VT sweatshirt with the Go Hokie sign on it.

I cannot imagine the pain of the family of the victims and the consternation of the Korean community in America and at home. As the arguments on gun control start all over again in America l recall the story of the Nigerian tourist in Johannesburg whose two year old daughter was shot right in front of her in their hotel room. Perhaps it is because we don't have such easy access to guns or the fact that Nigerians are just non violent but l have often admired the fact that crime rate in Nigeria is so low compared to the amount of policing we get. You can travel for kilometres on NEPA (don't care what it is called now) darkened roads without a policeman in sight save the occasional police check points where random policemen shake down okadas and danfos for the odd 20 naira. Imagine New York or London without light, cameras and police? Ah ha you get the picture? So even as we join America in a comity of nations to mourn the dead and ponder on how it could have happened we must be thankful that things are not as bad as they could potentially be here in Nigeria. Or am l deluding myself?

The President said it was going to be do or die, apparently he was serious. Found this story by the Independent of UK, which confirms what we already known. Question is what will Nigerians do about it? We go sidon look?

I love WIRED, it is one of my windows into the future of the world and one of the ways l reverse the aging process. This month's cover totally rocks (just flip it over) and the brillant article on Albert Einstein by Walter Isaacson, former TIME Managing editor and current ASPEN institute President and CEO should be given to all the guardians of our failing educational system. I met Walter last summer at ASPEN during the FOCAS meeting, a truly enriching experience.

Book of the week
DEMANDING THE IMPOSSIBLE, a history of anarchism by Peter Marshall

Favourite career changing quote
My friend Ade Bakare tells the story of how the inimitable Isabella Blow looked at his pre breakthrough sketches and said "very nice but it has no anarchy".

Best compliment l ever received (at least l took it as one)
You are frightfully deep

I have been staring at my cursor for one hour, before then, l had been
reading every piece of news and opinion l can about the elections on
line, before then l had been monitoring the progress of the collation
and announcement of results in Lagos and Ekiti and before then l had
been mobilizing people to vote and voting.

It is all abit much to take in and even more to distill and comment
on, especially as l can sense that there is still some real drama yet
to come. Unfortunately l cannot tell all that l know, that would have
to come in a future book. In short, l have a mental block and will thus
get away from it all for a while and go to my favourite Nigerian blog
BELLANAIJA.

That girl Bella has kept me up many nights reading her addictive blog,
how does she do it, is she even a she (so asked some fossil brain
friend of mine)? What does she look like? How does she get all the
information? Does she do this full time etcetc. Why not just interview
her some co addict asked once. I thought about it and l said nah. I
like the mental image l have about her and l'd like to keep it for
just a little longer. Just a little. Funmi loves Bellanaija.

A word of advice to other Africans. Don't be getting into that odious
"my country is more fucked up than yours" argument with Nigerians. We, Obatala, his wife and his cat know that Nigeria is undoubtedly the
most fucked up country in Africa, perhaps the world. We take some sort of morbid pride in it, exchanging increasingly surreal stories of
dysfunction, oppression, greed, avarice and manic leadership
misconduct that borders on cinematic black comedy.

So this Easter weekend in Accra when our closet eccentric, achingly
talented bag designer friend Nanna began that "oh you people are
lucky, Ghana is getting bad oh, and you cant believe bla bla bla .." l
mentally rolled up my eyes in exasperation. It the classic whinny "oh
l have issues, l need therapy" musing of the sane. Does the insane
recognise his madness? We don't need therapy, we don crase finish!
Imagine, even South Africans dare to compare their post apartheid
issues with Nigeria's problems. Nigeria with her pockets of Darfur,
bits of holocaust and flagrant internal apartheid, l beg go siddon jo!
Usually by the time the Nigerians exchange a few fondly insane
anecdotes from their daily lives, the other Africans usually shrivel
up, tail between their legs in acknowledgement of our never threatened status as the biggest, baddest country in Africa, chikena!

Perhaps it was to let off steam before we get into the pressure cooker
that the next few weeks of "selections" in Nigeria will be or to do a
destination inspection in case of rapid evacuation or how do you
explain the sheer number of Nigerians that descended on Accra for the
Easter break. You did not hear a word of Twi or Ga within a hundred
yards of black humanity. All the hotels were booked and the sleepy,
peaceful city heaved with a suppressed Nigerian soul. The shrimp was
in heaven as she was able to do her favourite things, swim and walk in
a park. She measures the worth of a nation in bright, clean, green
terms and has long declared Lagos ugly. She thinks Accra is beautiful
and at five noticed all the flags and emblems of national pride enough
to say "mummy every thing is Ghana, Ghana, they like Ghana sebi?" She composed a five-sentence song for Ghana ending it with free and happy, astonishing isn't it that even children know that freedom and the pursuit of happiness are cousins. They too must feel the constriction and inhibition to private space, thought and expression, the maddening efforts at homogenizing that we consider as development. The Ghanaians were of course happy to have our unbudgeted tourist dollars but they have always and even more so now as our democracy stands on trial dreaded an invasion by Nigerians. Even the lovely Nanna who loves Nigeria and Nigerians and whose house breathes art, creativity and inspiration declared she couldn't wait to see Nigerians leave. A common sentiment as confirmed by Chief Dele (that is what Ghanaians call BobDee Dele Momodu of Ovation) with whom we shared lunch and thought at Ovation Restaurant in Accra.

I can understand why they hate us, if l where them, l would hate us
and really they needn't bother because we hate us enough to go round. Now if l stop there you will fall into the trap of the passive
observer who watching Nigerians condemn Nigeria soundly concluded that we were self mutilating, suicidal nutcases. Nah men! We love us just as passionately as we hate us and exorcising our Nigerian soul is nigh impossible, even with the most integrated west man dick sucker, it seeps out of the nape of his neck like some mischievous little anjonu
(elf like spirit) gleefully mocking his best efforts at adapting.
Perhaps our love stem from a deep recognition of our potential
universal role and unspoken abilities whilst our hatred is a denial of
the cowardice beneath our inability to achieve those possibilities thus far. That may be why the Nigerian, even the one who has not stepped foot on this soil in the past twenty years is keenly following as we countdown to our "selections". We know they have manipulated the process in such a way at to mostly throw up our most untalented, unwell, uninspiring, unknowledgeable, untrue and closet diabolic. We know they will rig the selections and try to manipulate the results but na we and dem. We are going to stay and smoke them out. We will vote just so that we can continue with our version of democracy knowing that just by being some things will change, as they must in nature. After all, those monstrous anecdotes are usually ended with statements like God is a Nigerian.

Then again, even as l say that, my mischievous little id laughs
maniacally, perhaps the joke is on us and we exist vaingloriously
thumping our king of the jungle chest in a world that left the jungle
centuries ago. The naked dancing king, a measure for other Africans to
look at their problems, sigh and say, counting my blessings men, at
least l am not Nigerian.

Pix: Kaine Bode George, Adebayo Jones, Florence Ita-Giwa, Remi Osolanke (Remi Lagos) and myself
l really should write a Bridget Jones like diary, l returned two days
ago from the long awaited opening of the much-publicized TINAPA
business and leisure resort in Calabar, deaf in one ear and coughing
my guts out. A case of wrong diagnosis or fake drugs or both.
I should not have gone as l had caught a bad flu on the eve of my
departure but l bought into the hype and felt that I’ll be missing
something if l did not go. Plus l wanted to meet my friend Pamela's
mum Professor Eka Braide the Vice Chancellor at the university. The
professor, bless her did not disappoint, a woman the way they don't
make them anymore, intellectual, dignified without vexatious piety,
resourceful, nurturing and hospitable. None of which can be said about
the arrangements for either the so-called Calabar Fashion Week, the
Nigerian Movie Awards and to some extent the commissioning of Tinapa
itself.

The fashion week was a really a tacky exhibition in a porky little
room and a shadowy fashion show in a passageway at an unimaginative
boat club set in the most gorgeous body of water. Even the attempt to
take us to TINAPA by boat from the club with full military and police
protection and hardware took 70 minutes for a 20 minute ride, the boat
broke down twice, had to be changed, then broke down again. The
business resort opening began with the rude accreditation and card
verification process at entry and the disruption of the order of the
events such that we were kept waiting in the admittedly huge, well
organized and cool hall for almost five hours before the president's
arrival. By the last speech, l led the mutiny at one of the food
serving points as my blood sugar plummeted to zero.

The TINAPA project is no doubt audacious and visionary and Donald Duke
must be commended for even attempting it against all odds especially
given the lack of performance of other governors in the region with a much fatter resource bank. However, l am concerned as to how functional
it will be in its locale. Aside TINAPA itself the traditionally clean
and hospitable Calabar lacks the number and quality of hotel rooms to
be attractive. The idea of a localized tourist haven within a country
without a defined tourism agenda or policy, very poor infrastructure
and formidable security challenges seem unsustainable to me. It might
be doable if the visioner is there to steer the course in the first
few crucial years but Donald Duke would cease to be governor of Cross
River state in the next few weeks. The successor in the wings l am
told is his ally and shares his vision enough to actualize the dream
but if that happens it will be going against the grain of all l know
about Nigeria and politics. Is Liyel Imoke not the man who as minister
of power declared that even with billions of dollars in lifeline
Nigeria will not have constant and stable power for another 50 years,
hardly visionary nor revolutionary thought there. Besides l am yet to
see the Nigerian politician who is non egotistical enough to happily
actualize another politicians' vision.

TINAPA is maybe about 70% completed, the 300 bed hotel is still being
built, the mono rail is not yet built, the port on course and the
Nollywood complex is nearing completion but this to be used by who?
The idea of TINAPA is based on its being a free trade zone, a duty and
tax free haven where international goods can be bought cheaply in a
touristy haven with entertainment and culture on offer. However, both
the president and the minister of commerce did state clearly that they
expect that most of the goods traded will in no time be locally
manufactured. A joke really considering how the continual decline in
infrastructure, power and assess to non-incestuous capital has
strangulated manufacturing and enterprise in the past few years.

As a free trade zone with functional facilities and easy mass
transportation, TINAPA can work; l would love for it to work and
perhaps the private sector participants will ensure this. Even with
only internal tourism, the number of Nigerians who will be persuaded
to buy international good and products cheaply for resale or
consumption is considerable and there is a large enough expatriate
community and middle class adventurers who might be attracted to a
secure, fun, entertainment and shopping destination within Nigeria.
Any attempt to alter that will kill the TINAPA dream. As per the
Nollywood studio (is the gorilla stature at the entrance a reference
to the Neanderthal state of our movie industry?) it will no doubt make
a cheap production venue for foreign movie and TV producers. As per
Nollywood practitioners, unless the use of the studios is free l don't
see how they can use the facilities effectively without a committed
engagement from the financial sector. Even if they get the money to
use such facilities, pay huge artists and professional fees, buy
better stories and build immressive film sets to produce better
quality films, what about the challenges of promotion, distribution
and piracy, which will erode the potential profit from such huge
invested capital. Once again we are back to the issue of basic
infrastructure. The ability to move large numbers of people, goods and
products all over the country. The generation of power effectively
and constantly, sustaining industry at every level and the ability to
guarantee lives and property. These are the building blocks of
prosperity.

That said, l commend Donald Duke for this courage. He was calm and
gracious during the chaotic ceremonies and spoke eloquently and
convincingly. My only grouse with him was when he started to frown and
fidget during the lacklustre fashion show at the dramatically non-professional and unimaginative Nigerian movie award. This when a couple of models came out in transparent REMI LAGOS caftans with only their tongs on beneath. The only artistic and exciting part to an other wise dull fashion show. Maybe it was because his young daughters were in the audience (children under 10 should not have been at a show
that started at midnight anyway, did he hear the lyrics of konga and other such explicit songs being played?) or because of his lovely but obviously conservative wife (conservatives don't go into core fashion, music, entertainment and sports business) but he was frowning for Africa. My mischievous mind is wondering, why doth thou protest so much? It's a fashion show, bare flesh happens, its art, lighten up.

More Pictures here

Monday evenings, l can usually be found at the
Silverbird Cinema with my friends Jide and Remi. I
know we make an eccentric looking trio and perhaps we
are .I was billed to do celebrity who wants to be a
millionaire last weekend but l worked as MC till the
wee hours at the girlpower unleashed concert so l
couldn’t make the show the next day. Painful because l
really like that show and Frank Edoho is a good guy,
talented, sexy (back off kathrine, (-:just looking)
and funny. If l had gone, there is only one friend l
would have called for a life line. If Jide doesn’t
know the answer? Fogedit! He is this 6 foot 3
androgynous walking wikkepedia on everything you can
think off except religion and football. Those two
doesn’t “werk”( you really must watch west Africa
idols) for him. A lawyer by training, his thing is to
fight ignorance, oppression and injustice. Thus Jide
has matched at every major demonstration in this
country in the past two decades. He was also one of
those who constantly demonstrated against Apartheid
at the South African embassy in London as a student.

So it is fitting that we decided yesterday to see
Catch A Fire. Jide had been at the premier at the SA
embassy in London with some of the key ANC leaders who
had been jailed and l missed it during SITENGI in
Capetown.

Catch A Fire is the true story of Patrick Chamsso who
had lived a relatively happy life with his family in
the township slums of apartheid south Africa, avoiding
conflicts and politics he just wanted to eek a living
and raise his family. That was all shattered when he
was accused of being an ANC terrorist and he was
systematically tortured and his wife brutalized. The
trauma lead him into the ANC training camp in Maputo
and a lot of mayhem and deaths later he is a changed
man and a freedom fighter, blowing up a power station
(oh how we cheered at that scene), betrayed and then
jailed at Robben Island. His protagonist was played by
Tim Robbins whom I’ll always admire because of Goldie
Hawn. Tims carracter was this cold, evil boer police
office who tortured, maimed and murdered with such
chilling calmness and strange charm. An accurately
told tale and well shot film, it rivals Blood Diamond
(l like BD too) and in fact makes Blood Diamond look
cosmetic. I guess the catch a fire story leaves a
white man looking cold and evil and thus may not be
digesteable in Hollywood hence the poor showing at the
bigger awards. In blood Diamonds, the white man
repents and is a hero at last so that preserves the
status quo.

Screen play was written by Shawn Slovo whose parents were
one of those rare breeds of humans, the bravest sort
white South Africans who joined forced with ANC to fight
apartheid. Joe slovo was co founder of Umthonko we Sizwe, the armed faction of ANC and his wife was murdered during the struggle.

The film stuck a deep cord with me because l was in
Robben Island in February and all the tour guides
within the prison are ex prisoners and the stories of the struggle are
all on their faces as much as it is in the carefully
preserved cells, voice recording that play back
thought of ex prisoners, pictures and all the
paraphenelia of oppression. Apartheid was one of the
most evil systems invented by man against man. The
holocast killed more and was evil but at least it
happened over a shorter period of time, Apartheid went
on for so long killing the souls of generations whilst
preserving a beaten shell. The recovery is still only
ongoing. As a Nigerian, l have often wondered what
will be that stimuli that will turn complacency and
apathy into decisive action. What will it take for us
to look an oppressor (symbolically or in reality) in
the face and say as Patrick did that "there is nothing
more you can do to me, my life is finished but at
least when my children speak of me, they will say
their father stood up for what was right, for good,
what will your children say about you"?

I go to South Africa and l see that they still have
all sorts of issues but gradually things are changing
for the black south African and non of it would have
happened if there was not a generation brave enough to
stand up for a future they might not be a part of.

As the world struggles with terrorism and publicly denounces racism,
making the right noises about fair trade and helping
Africa. Africa will do better if Africans fight
internal oppression and their external cohorts to
entrench systems and processes of governance that
protect liberty and guarantees prosperity. Otherwise, we
will continue with the Blood Diamondsque fomular where
a white knight (plus female with high emotional
intelligence, very noughties) saves the concentious
African. A formular that is rife in Nigeria now as
every project, business and cornershop must have a
“foreign partner, face or import” and as state
governments give free certificates of occupancy and
stand as bank guarantors to foreigners whilst stifling
productivity within Nigeria. Slavery is real and
enduring, it just has a different toga.

This week l am reading and highly recommed Banker To The Poor by Nobel Laureat Muhammad Yunus.

So, I’m driving the shrimp to school in the lemon, its usually a 10
minute drive but it had rained all night and the traffic was worse
than usual. By those lights at the Nitel junction in GRA Ikeja, which
were installed in memory of Bioye Taiwo the 24 year old, only
daughter, lawyer child of the still grieving Mrs Taiwo Taiwo who was
killed at that point a few years ago, all hell was let loose. Somehow,
everyone had decided to ignore the lights and there was a gridlock at
the junction with all manner of vehicles coming from different
directions attempting to perhaps piggy ride one another.
A police vehicle cut in front of everyone in the wrong direction and
assaulted motorists off the road. I am unemotional and deadpan as l
firmly but calmly block any offending car and do that carefully
choreographed brake and accelerator balancing, bumper to bumper
driving that only years of driving in Lagos can teach you.

25 mins later we are through and the shrimp who had been strangely
quiet through it all suddenly pips up;
S: Mummy, why were those cars hitting your car and why did that man
thump our car like that.
FI: Because they are naughty.
S: But why didn't you hit them back?
FI: Because it is unnecessary bad behaviour.
S: What mean "inecessary"?
FI: Something that you don't need.
S: But they were bad to you too.
FI: Yes but you don't have to be bad because other people are bad.

She paused for a while with a frown parting the braids falling forward
on her 5 year old brow then asked,

S: But why didn't the police irrest them, l saw a policeman there, why
didn't he irrest them mummy?

I am stumped as l hurriedly willed my brain to produce a dream
preserving answer, eventually l murmured an unconvincing, 'well
sometimes the police are not able to do their jobs well'.
She looks at me in disgust and l realized that she already knows that
the police cannot enforce or uphold the law in the city of god.

I drop her off at school and as l drive back l thought of my mother
who taught me to slap harder, bite deeper, run faster and give as good
as l get. My mother was kind and compassionate but she was a warrior,
a product of her environment. I am also a product of my environment
but have often accusingly been called "oyinbo" (westernized) in my
ways as though disorder and dysfunction is our way (or is it? perhaps
the joke is on me.). I subscribe to universal laws of humanity, good
society and human conduct. Often misinterpreted to mean "mumu"
(retard, idiot, fool, pushover, you get the drift?) behaviour here.
Once a friend questioned the wisdom of raising our children to have
values and modes of behaviour that work in a structured lawful society
when in fact they will be living in a lawless jungle and would be
better served with corresponding instincts, values and behaviour.

This has nothing to do with raising some ghastly female with
pretentious "lady" behaviour, which camouflages such manipulative and
vindictive spirit that its full force can deflate a FIFA approved
football. Just raising a human with independent thought, a happy
spirit and a deep awareness of her privileges and responsibilities to
the universe and her society, surely that's the way it should be? Is
it, my inner id asks as the crazy person who had chosen to drive
against the traffic whizzes back onto the right lane behind me and
miscalculates, ramming right into my rear. My neck jerks back and my
back groans, l know l have whiplash. He, of the badly cut suit,
clown's tie and toad like bloating gets out of his car, inspects my
car on my behalf and being judge and jury pronounced the damage
minimal, gets back in his car, waves and drives off once again going
against the traffic. At the top of the queue, there are traffic
wardens and policemen, they will not "irrest" him and he is going to
drive off convinced that the bigger your car the bigger your dick and
the world must suck it. l tell myself to breathe deeply and continue
driving on the right lane, an hour's gone by already. One day the good
will prevail just as that frigging frog will one day turn into a prince.

Ayo Animashaun.
Somehow, Nigeria has developed an award season around about the international entertainment industry award season. No surprise there. Between February and March some of the most publicized awards show are held in Nigeria. Look l come in peace so I’ll not go into the merits of the awards conferred and the frenzy for award giving. Suffice to say l have attended most of the major awards from beginning and as they get bigger, non is more exciting than HIPHOP magazine awards. The ethical and moral dilemma of magazines as watchdogs and judge is a discourse for another day but in my opinion HIPHOP awards is the best. This year due to poor health l missed Thisday and City people awards, l don’t do AMAA awards in Bayelsa, that’s like taking the Oscars to Oklahoma.

I usually find awards tedious and long winded with everyone trying to crawl far into their own arses or worse into an influential person’s arse. The lack of attention to detail, lack of theme and real content as well as the sheer disregard for time makes these shows more of a chore than honour.

Not so hip-hop awards. The debut edition last year was smoking. The energy, the creativity, the deliberate decision to be unapologetically brilliant. I hadn’t seen anything like that in Nigeria. I expect no less of course because l feel a kindred spirit with Ayo Animashaun who publishes the magazine. His is a long painful journey to well deserved success and HIPHOP magazine is one of the few magazines in Nigeria that l’ll willingly buy of my own volition. It has its own style and language, it is creatively and professionally packaged and it is bursting with content. This is true even though l am not a great hip-hop fan.

This year was bigger and richer in resources but it lacked the innocent brilliance of last year’s edition. The show was almost 3 hours late (late year late comers were locked out) and poorly coordinated without a real central theme or well articulated content.

That said, it is still in my opinion the best awards show in Nigeria. The security was good, the yellow (MTN was sponsoring) carpet was magical and the compeers were the lovely Tana and the crazy, sexy D bang who was absolutely mad and high on his own youthful adrenalin through out the night. His exuberance was tough to contain for Tana but she held her own.

I love that the bearded one Edi Lawani who is perhaps Nigeria’s most prolific technical event producer got a long overdue award and that Weird MC won the album of the year award, she has come a long way and to be herself in an environment like ours must take some real balls. She was understandably emotional.

All in all it was a good night.

Some of the awards pictures here

What can l say? 4 weeks ago, l had a major meltdown, my health failed
and my mind was following suit. I had allowed teeth grinding
frustration, the sheer amount of work to be done and the efforts of
swimming against the tide of retrogression rob me of everything. After
seeing a doctors and a barrage of tests, l rented an apartment in
London, got on a plane, shut the door, my computer, phone and my mind.

l spent the time walking around London, reading and watching mindless
television until l got my health, spirit and sense of humour back. I
somehow had come to hate Lagos and taken on the universe's
responsibility of saving the world. It took a 2-hour, one-sided
"conversation" with a highly intelligent, self-deluding, conservative,
closet narrow minded, judgemental bigot of a change activist to force
me out of my own anal canal. Where was all the joy, the good energy,
the happiness, once you appoint yourself the messiah, you bloody loose
the plot, look at Obasanjo. My job is not to change the world and lose
myself, wellbeing and joy in the process, my job is to better my
allotted space one day at a time, the universe will ensure the rest.

Then London did her usual trick, after a couple of weeks of cold
unpredictable weather, mind numbing anonymity, uncompromising order
and neurosis over pointless issues, events and activities l begin to
crave the heat, the madness, the sheer unpredictable energy of Lagos.
By end of week two my usual gastronomic excesses and the culture
overload had begun to grate, all that receiving and very little
opportunity to contribute eventually penetrated my inertia and l want
some drama, time to go home, time to continue the war. The true
stories of the many battles will one day be written but l assure you l
will win the war. To feel the energy, the first thing l did on my
return was do my hair, nails and face, wear a wicked dress and strut
unto the HIPHOP awards yellow carpet. Pictures and story from the awards
tomorrow