Our idea - "Mother's Secret Weapons”
Each ad humorously profiles the common tools used during a mother and child squabble, and use them to remind ourselves about the love that came in form of discipline.
Thanks for creating beauty. Thanks for your works that fed my soul - "Love in the Time of Cholera," "The General in His Labyrinth," "One Hundred Years of Solitude". Thanks for the quotes I return to when I need to be reminded about the futility and illusions of life, and the silliness of the human condition. I didn't like magical realism until I read your works. Continue to rest in peace as the world celebrates your birthday, today!
The muscle and the abs, well, remain rumours :)
This boy. Chris. Ogunlowo. Abiodun's first. The one that inherited his strange habits. Pacing when restless. Gobbling knowledge. Even in the toilet. Ogling at animals. Ogling at fine things. Collecting old things. Collecting weird things. Finding life in culture. Finding meaning in tradition. In music. In old music. In history. In history waiting to happen. In curiosity about distant lands. But didn't pick the gene to be adventurous with food.
This boy. His preferred name. Bolorunduro. Adebisi's first. Her deputy husband. Wears her smile. Finds colour, like her, in chaos. Hosts people. Loves people. Laughs. Big-hearted. Forgiving. Takes life easy. Jejely. Asks questions. Challenges received wisdom. Traveler. Fond of flaunting that insignia of beauty, that gap-tooth. But didn't pick her ability to cross forbidden human boundaries at will, without filter.
This boy. Man. Man of Gosh. Get rich. Get richer. Grow already. Find new friends. Discover new lands. Maybe get married too. Maybe become a father. Eat well. Stop being a lepa. Start getting comfortable with cameras. Cameras don't kill. Stop being an olodo. Or elenu yamama. Or oni frapapa.
You're full of shit. You’re full of magic.
That time I was interviewed by students of Pan-Atlantic University. It was a good chance to share my experience as someone who trades in creativity, communication, and culture. They were curious about the dynamics of running a business as a creative person. I understood their curiosity. There's a common notion that creatives don't make good business people. It's a myth that has been reinforced by shitty creatives. Members of the creative class, understandably, are well represented on the neurotic role-call, and so we don't always expect them to be the most disciplined people in domains that require discipline, like business. But I always maintain that every creative - if not naturally business-inclined, can compensate by learning. Or, at most, admit that there's a missing link or just give up and stay in the purist zone of creation that shields one from the motions of business. I probably should write a piece on my thoughts. I talked about the importance of a good team and pushing hard to defend good ideas.
Don't end this holiday without a visit to Terra Kulture to watch the beautifully-produced “Fela and the Kalakuta Queens”. The show, in one word is - epic.👌🏽
(But then, while sitting pretty among an audience that looks like a cross section of Lagos upper class, upper middle-class, middle class folks, with fine bags, fine skins with American and British accents, I couldn’t shuck off the thought that capitalism and its snobbish agent - class difference, have conspired to fully own Fela. This Fela! The man who pitched his struggle for the everyday man; a man whose oevure and message was antithetical to the pretensions of the social and political classes. One may counter that Fela, by the privilege of family, is modestly a product of a middle class and educated family. But the man remodeled his life and art and rebellion for the common man. This thought occupied my mind for a few seconds as the fine girls on stage twerked. Maybe someday, a good social scientist would allot time to probe how capitalism ends up branding (low!) culture for the consumption of members of the privileged class. If anyone knows a book or study that may answer my curiosity, please feel free to share with me). I’d like to watch this show again! Those twerking are not of this world.😉
I enjoyed Dami Ajayi new collection of poetry, the cheekily titled "A Woman's Body is a Country". As in pop culture, as in literature, one is tempted to compare an artiste's/author's debut with a sophomore work. I shall resist that temptation. But I must acknowledge that his first anthology, "Clinical Blues", while not being overtly experimental, offered a freshness and playfulness that one sorta anticipates as this poet's creative mien. It seemed more surgical. This new collection is more temperate; it exhibits restraints on the experimental and the playfulness but roams freely around emotions. There are poems about death, about love, about friendship, about beer, about sex, about cities, about agro, most of them distributed around the peripherals and depth of the emotional. I like quite a number of the poems but I've returned mostly to these two and the title poem. I love the cover design too. Well done, Dami Ajayi. 👏🏽👌🏽👍🏽🙏🏽
I was supposed to have some meetings at Truffles. But it wasn’t opened so I moved to the Renaissance. While blowing grammar (the thing we sometimes do for money), I began to shuffle my attention between my guest and a corner of the hotel.
I had noticed a roll-up banner that announced books, a section of a table with piles of books, and people filing out with carrier bags of books. My guest had lost me. I had sent a message to the guests of my next meeting to postpone our meet. I couldn’t wait to see books. Then I saw the side of a lady in ankara, with a dyed crew cut, and in full salesman mode. She strolled to the entrance and I figured, “Oh, it’s Lola Shoneyin”. I rushed the meeting and entered the pop-up book store. My first question, enthusiastically - I hope you have Dami Ajayi's new book. She led me to the corner of the store where Dami’s books sat pretty among others. Lola was recommending another book to me when new customers enter. I let her go attend to them so I could wander about. I regret to find two books that I had bought on my kindle just earlier in the morning. I wished I bought from her store. She may not yet know my fascination with creative people with enthusiasm for business.
I picked Dami’s, I picked Yemisi's book, which I had promised as someone’s Christmas present, and Bolaji Abdullahi’s account of the presidency of former Nigerian President, Goodluck Jonathan - “On A Platter of Gold”, and a complimentary copy of Ake Review (2017).
So my dear friends and members of the kingdom of Gosh, take that stroll to Renaissance hotel, Isaac John Street, GRA, Ikeja, (today or next month) and pick cool books and, errrrm, ask Lola for the leftover of our hug. And if you’ve got nice dentition, be sure to take a selfie too.😬🙃😛
The guitar 👌🏽. And then Ed Sheeran killed the hook. Lovely.
My friend and I chatted about how best to celebrate his wife. The wife is a friend too and so I’m familiar with some of the things that interest her.
The husband had planned a lunch at a cool hotel, including some random plans. But we wanted more. We challenged ourselves to come up with an idea that will be simple and cool. The husband and I, usual collaborators in a record of mischiefs and silliness, started to brainstorm. Then, we happened on a simple one that will appeal to the wife’s intellectual and romantic sides.
Idea: The husband will write a cool and romantic poem and share couplets with the wife's friends who will post it on Twitter, on schedule, with the hashtag - #T32.
How’s this relevant? The wife likes poetry. She’s a Twitter citizen. Her friends appreciate poetry. They will love to surprise her. Her husband writes poetry. I write poetry too. And I’m readily available to edit poetry. I’ll be available to pressure the husband to complete the poem before the birthday. I can help to break the poem into tweets.
Everybody made it happen. And the celebrant was happy.
Here are the tweets:
And the full poem: