It’s January and I found myself in Montego Bay Jamaica, hundreds of kilometres away from the cold UK weather, primarily to get some sunshine and possibly sample some authentic Jamaican homegrown wholesome non-genetically modified rump. And maybe some authentic Jamaican cuisine along the way.
During the short 10 minute taxi ride to the hotel resort where I was staying (and throughout the holiday), being a Nigerian I could not help but notice some similarities, between my people and black Jamaicans – physically and in some mannerisms. This is not so surprising considering what went on during the era of slave trade, where my people were forcibly taken from the west code and landed all over the Caribbean. So effectively we are very distant cousins.
First thing that struck me was the driving.Read More »
So it’s Christmas day and I see a missed call from my aunt. (The same one who prayed for a wife for me in the Prayer click here). I had sent her some cash for Christmas, earlier in the month and half expected her to call me to acknowledge receipt.
In fairness I did try to answer the phone, but it only rang twice and stopped before I could pick up. This is not unusual among my people and is called flashing. This is a type of call collect where the calling party (e.g someone from my village without enough phone credit as is always the case) makes a call at the called party’s (someone living abroad or deemed to always have enough phone credit) expense.
And woe betide you if you don’t return the call within five minutes, especially if the call is from an elderly relative. You and anyone else who has ears to hear will Read More »
Previous hair cuts – Conversation I & Conversation II
Tired of looking like I was auditioning for the title role in the sequel of Django and also tired of my mother thinking I was heading to Turkey to cross the border into Syria, the other week, I decided to have a long overdue haircut and a beard trim.
The following conversation took place with my barber, Emenike. As usual it was in Igbo language.Read More »
It was the week before the unfortunate Brexit vote. I thought I’d visit mainland Europe, just in case the UK did the stupid thing and shot themselves in the foot. Alas they did. (Shit! I need to get to Mexico before November 28th).
So I took a five-day break in Torremolinos in Andalucía, Spain. I had visited the region around the same time last year, but stayed about a 15 minute drive away in Malaga. Much of the five days were spent at Eden Club, which was on the gay part of the beach. Depending on the day of the week, it teemed with lots of good looking guys and to balance things out some not so good looking ones.
Weekends were usually busier than weekdays. It was on the Saturday during my stay, that I noticed three friends, lounging under a beach umbrella, a few spots from mine.Read More »
My last entry “Crap I Get On Grindr IX” (click here) took place last week,while on a short break on the Greek Island of Mykonos, where someone (let’s name him Stalker) tracked me down to my Hotel.
The way I figure it, Stalker liked my profile on Grindr and messaged me a few times. When I did not respond to any of his messages, he saw that I was within reasonable range of his location, came to my hotel and sent a message to say he was out front.
The thing is finding me was by no means a Herculean task (or as intriguing as say Huck using high tech equipment to track down his torture victim in Scandal). No, it was quite simple – I was the only black guy at the time, staying in the main (if not only) gay hotel on the Island.Read More »
Shit just got stalker real🏃🏿🏃🏿🏃🏿