Sorry sorry-o

A day on the English transport system nearly broke me. Somehow I expected that people who have little in the way of external concerns would be more polite in their bustling from one place to the next. Being trampled on by a woman carrying a baby on her back and a pile of cloth on her head, while she hitches her skirt to clamber across a swampy riverbank and onto a ferry which may or may not sink seems reasonable. Being trampled on by someone in a race to get onto an air-conditioned train with seating for everyone, when there is another in five minutes, does not.

Of course, life here isn't all that easy, even though it appears to be so. Life is hectic, expensive, and everyone is full of inward concerns (Am I happy? Am I fat? Am I earning enough?) that don't always exist in a place where more pressing concerns (Will this ferry sink?) do. Life here is just as hard as life elsewhere, just in a different way.

While I swayed about on the underground wishing I was anywhere else, I listened to Femi Kuti's 'Sorry Sorry' to remind me of people with different concerns. Friends in Lagos told me this week that they hadn't had electricity for days now and that they can't afford to fill the generator because petrol, in this oil-producing wealthy country, is now rationed. The batteries on their Blackberrys are flat as a result. When Femi played this song live at the opening of Big Brother Nigeria, the press damned him the next day in the papers, saying, 'why does he have to wash our dirty laundry in public?' It seems to me that if people like Femi and his father, Fela, weren't risking their careers and lives to wash Nigeria's dirty linen in public, then people would be even worse off.

Look my friends,
Them no like to hear word
They will follow follow, follow their enemies
Like zombie, they'll go march dey go.
They fight for other people
Wey spoil Nigeria so
These politicians and soldiers
They be one and the same
No one different from the other
My people don't want to know.
But with these kind of leaders
Africa no get hope,
Africans will suffer
We go suffer reach our bone

I'm sorry sorry o, I'm sorry for Nigeria,
I'm sorry sorry o, I'm sorry for Africa.
I'm sorry sorry o, I'm sorry for Nigeria,
I'm sorry sorry o, I'm sorry for Africa

Supermarket observations

Against blustering winds and bursts of rain dotted with rays of sunshine, I made my way to the supermarket. Discovering that my cycle panniers fitted neatly onto the side of the trolley, I had time in the queue to look around while others piled on and off their purchases.

The man infront of me wore earphones, though from the flat look on his grey, aged face, it seemed as if he wasn't listening to anything, rather, blocking out any sound from outside. He wore an anorak over his creased linen jacket, and comfortable-looking leather shoes. He did not greet the man at the till, just asked for a bag and waited to load his shopping.

He bought two red apples, a small block of Sainsbury's cheddar, one tomato, and two of slices of ham. The teller passed the tomato to him as if it were a newly-born kitten. The unsmiling man did not say thankyou, and walked away.

Behind me were a young couple who jostled over who would carry the shopping. She unfolded a shopping bag and he said he could fit everything into his rucksack. They bought 40 plastic coat-hangers, kitchen roll and two bottles of fruit squash, the makings of a newly-acquired home. She, wearing a silk blouse and looking at her boyfriend adoringly, had an infectious giggle. After the sadness of the man's tomato, it was quite warming.

Yapping at the Jazz Cafe

Photo from: www.netzpolitik.de


Seun Kuti, son of the great Fela Anikulapo Kuti, is a funny chap. At Monday night's gig at the Jazz Cafe, he spoke about something I wrote about in an earlier post : these blessed MP's expenses.

“Your MPs, man, what’s going on? You people are insulting this man because he stole £400, £1000, £200, £6000. What? What? You got it good man, you got it good. I’m sure the Nigerians are just watching the news laughing, ha ha ha, look at that guy, he stole the amount of money I use to fill the fuel in my car, ha ha ha. Oh, look at that guy, he is arrested because of money I sent my son to travel with for holidays, ha ha ha. You know, if you guys attack your MPs like this, they will just become sneakier, and they will steal more. So just let them take their £400, £600, before it comes to £6 million, £20 million. Just allow them to take their £200, the £100. Just forget about this, they uncool man."

Musical interlude of brass cacophony and the nagging, frenetic afrobeat which Seun's father created. So many saxophones on stage that it was hard to know who was playing what. The whole room was sweating, and the 13 band members on stage, playing their long, repetitive, trance-like beats, basses and melodies, exuded concentration as they drove the song on.

Seun may not have created anything new with his kind of Afrobeat, but he knows how to yap, as they say in Nigeria, do someone down, just as well as his father did:

"Before I continue, I have to tell you the secret behind the credit crunch. You'll be hearing it's the bank, the housing, it's all lies. Listen to the truth; they are all lies, all those stories you hear on CNN. The truth is this: the world's decided to start arresting African rulers who carry their money abroad. So for protest, they all decided to take their money back to Africa and hide it in their house. So now, all the dollars and pounds and euros, they're in their house. They are refusing to spend it or take it abroad because they now arrest them. That is the secret of the credit crunch. Just wait, they will hold a new meeting with IMF in two months' time, they will sort it out, they will bring the money back and everything will be fine. The money is in houses in Nigeria, precisely in Nigeria, point, right there. So just relax, it's coming back, I know the meeting is going on right now."

If you want to hear a recording of the track, you can download a zip file here