Don't you love 'em Lagos street-hawkers?

Got bread???

Street hawking in Lagos. What a unique experience! Where else on this earth can one afford prompt service coupled with freedom of choice and the chance to compare, contrast, and haggle prices of goods and services with vendors, and totally feel like a celebrity?

Not in a million cities. Only in Lagos, Nigeria.

Yeah, that's right. I totally said it. What you gonna do? Drag my white tush to Kiri-Kiri prison?

Anyone who's ever been to Lagos, even for one day, totally knows the chant of the street-hawkers:

Bread-dy Agege o!

Ewa Agoyin, o wa o!

Buy pure-water!

Ewedu re!

Coke! Fanta!! Sprite!!!

Guguru ati ekpa!

Hot Moin-moin!

Akara, Kpoff-kpoff, Chin-chin!!!

Guinea-fowl eggs!

Dodo! Boole!

It goes on and on and never ends, one street hawker--flat metal tray balanced on his/her head--after another, selling edible goodies from dawn till dusk.

Who can resist their call? No one! That's why their service is so world-famous.

Indigens say Lagos is for the active and highly energetic individuals. Yeah, right!

Ironically, the lazy and sedentary thrive well in Lagos too. Basically, the street-hawkers live for these people. All one needs to do is drag oneself outta bed and go camp in front of the gate to ones home. All the stuff you need for the day will pass by you in the space of thirty-five minutes. From bath soap to toothbrush and toothpaste. From hot tea and freshly baked bread to heavy meals, snacks, and soft drinks. Hell, you can even make a phone call with a rented cell phone! What more can one ask for?

And to totally cap it all, stuffs are hawked in convenient quantities. You need just two slices of bread for a sandwich? No problem! the street-hawkers will totally sell just two slices. Lol! You only need a squeeze of toothpaste? Not an issue! You only wanna purchase just three tablespoons of hot cocoa and a dash of milk for your morning drink? Sure, they're totally up for it! You need a handful of detergent for your laundry? Okey-dokie, one handful of 'super-blue omo' is measured and priced accordingly. Lol!!!

One favorite theory of mine is that many Europeans are in the wrong country--especially the heavy and lazy ones. Oh yeah? What other city encourages the sedentary lifestyle in humans more than Lagos? Imagine a city where sloth and bumming around is totally acceptable. Vendors bring everything you ever wish for to your doorstep, enabling you to just sit right there on your backside while you lose weight and acquire a long-lasting tan without much trouble. Lol!!!

Oh and it doesn't end with just hanging outside your gate. While riding in vehicles you can totally buy stuff off the streets too. Who says you gotta stop and exit your vehicle? Nope. No need to bother your precious self. The street-hawkers totally get it. They already anticipate your needs and will rush their wares to your car window. Don't worry, they are adept at chasing after your car even in the heaviest of traffic. Some of them can totally keep pace with a vehicle moving at 30 kilometers per hour. Amazing, huh?

Lol!!!

While in a car, please, the last thing you wanna do is push your head outta your window and yell, "Bread!" Lol!!! The next thing you're gonna know, many different kinds of bread are so gonna be shoved in your face. Large loaves, small loaves, dark-chocolate, white, wheat, mixed, milky, sliced, heavy--name it, you got it!

So basically, you now get the idea, right? Hey? You still with me?

I steal a look at your face and realize you're totally fast asleep.

I've been totally rambling to myself for the last hour. Fat luck!

I'll be back with more!

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

For information about the upcoming novel, FEDDIE GIRL by Nona David, visit Bernard Books Publishing http://bernardbooks.com

Yeah, Right! Welcome to Lagos, Nigeria...

So why did I get on a plane heading to Lagos, Nigeria?

To be honest, I asked myself the same question everyday for the past year. I don't know why I let my parents talk me into it, despite forebodings at the back of mind. Guess I just wanted to be cool and show them no amount of punishment would totally faze me.

Oh boy, was I wrong!

First off, my mom came along for the ride but my dad refused to comply, even though the punishment was his idea in the first place.

You look at me in an odd way, as if to say, you dumb babe! "That probably raised a red flag, huh?"

It did, believe me, but I was too busy bitching about my cell phone privileges being taken away, to notice. Talk about the classic 'penny wise, pound foolish' syndrome.

There I was, sulking about my Blackberry, not even noticing my parents had something more sinister in mind. When I finally caught up to what was on board, it was too late!

"Jeez!" you yell, "what are you? Like the dumbest kid on the block?" You shake your head in disgust.

I cringe from you and and your snarky attitude and hide my irritation behind my words. I know you're right, but say what you may, had you been in my shoes, even you wouldn't have seen it coming.

You roll your eyes to high heavens and smirk, "Yeah, right!"

Seriously!!! Lagos, Nigeria isn't exactly San Francisco, California.

So like, we stepped out of the Muritala Mohammed airport building and it suddenly hit me:

Mosquitoes are truly the most evil and vicious insects you'll ever come across.

"No kidding!" you exclaim, running my pink hairbrush through your hair. "You think I oughta shave?" You peer at your reflection in the mirror, caressing your smooth jaw with long tapered fingers. You have no stubble--you're only fourteen.

Well, yeah. I'm referring to the mosquitoes, not your non-existent facial hair. Like most pre-pubescent males, you're already obsessed with growing a moustache.

Anyways, back to my story. In Lagos, the mosquitoes are as large as moths, noisy and unrelenting. They must have a unique way of discerning fresh blood, cos they descended on me and my mom in droves as soon as we stepped out in the open, forming a distorted halo over our heads and singing in our ears.

Their bites are sharp and stinging, the pain akin to none other than that of bees. They never let-up, no matter how hard you slap at them. Hiding under layers of clothing don't help either cos they've figured out a way to feed on you through your pants.

The frustrating part is, you put up your hand to wave them away, they go ahead and bite your knuckles and the skin underneath your nails, the two places that are the most difficult to appease by scratching--assuming you can find the exact spot to scratch.

"I can imagine," you say, not really getting it.

But I won't blame ya cos, unless you've been to Lagos and have been attacked by a million of those bad boys at once, you'll probably never get it. End of story!

Mosquitoes are just one of the many evils of Lagos. The traffic congestion, air and garbage pollution, lack of traffic laws, harassment by road-side vendors, and general lack of law and order will blow you away.

"How come?" you ask, finally letting go of your boyish chin. You pick up a scraggly sneaker and stuff your sock-less foot into it.

What I'm saying is, you don't wanna make the mistake of taking Lagos, Nigeria for granted. It's a city like no other. Lagosians fondly refer to it as Eko. As far as they are concerned, no other city in the world can totally offer what Lagos does.

And, after spending a whole year in Nigeria, I began to see it too.

The exciting night life, the sleepless natives, the exotic and mouth-watering foods, the language, the accent, the thankfulness of the people when blessings come their way, the frustrations of business owners when power goes out, the rowdy markets sporting anything you desire under the sun, the intimidating area boys, the church functions, the parties and ceremonies, the music, the pulse of the streets. It's a whole lot to take in at first glance. But before long, the city gets to you and you get infected with the feverish enthusiasm.

You pause in the process of knotting the laces of your second sneaker. "You don't say?" You stare at me with eyes wide as saucers.

On the contrary, I really do say. Just three weeks in the city and I totally found myself screaming with the rest of them:

Lagos for life!

Eko o ni baje!

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

(Definitely more to come, so stay connected.)

For excerpts and information about the upcoming novel FEDDIE GIRL, visit http://bernardbooks.com

Jeez! How was I to know?

You’ve been waiting to hear what I did to merit a punishment as extreme as boarding school in AFRICA of all places. Okay, I’m totally gonna tell you. But bear in mind that this happened a long time ago, like when I was twelve.

At that time, I guess I must have been a really frustrated kid, full of angst and bitterness at the failing relationship between my parents.
How was I to know, at that time, that trying to be a punk was not the best of solutions to an impending family divorce?

I was only twelve–duh!!

How was I to know that by letting my rage overtake me, I was gonna hurt other people and myself?
Really, how was I to know???
Guess I learned the hard way.

Okay so you still wanna know what I did?

“Spill the beans, Carlotta,” you reply, ready for gossip.

Okey-dokie. But remember, you asked for it!!! Lol!!!

*******

I hated the two kids. They were about half my age, skinny, and obnoxious as hell. They had tiny little noses that seemed turned-up at the end, almost snobbish.

They never shut up, especially the female. She had this annoying way of chanting in a high-pitched voice each time she crossed my path:

“Car-lot-ta! Car-lot-ta!! Carrr-llooot-ttaaaa!!!”

“Enough, already!” I snapped at her one morning. I was in a particularly sore mood and didn’t care much for being pestered.

The li’l kid, wouldn’t listen, she kept chanting.

“I said, stop it!” I yelled at her, “or I’m gonna bust your butt!”

The girl shut up at once. There was a moment of glorious quietness, before her male counterpart blurted:

“Watcha gonna do? Car-lot-ta, watcha gonna do?”

I’m gonna totally bust you up, that’s what. “Stop it this minute,” I ordered.

The boy ignored me. I hate being ignored.

His female partner-in-crime joined in again, and this time, she made the mistake of poking me in the chest while she chanted with renewed vigor.

That did it! I lost my temper!

First, I caught hold of one and landed her a resounding blow straight across the cheek. Smack!
Dazed, she fell back and let up. The male wasn’t as easy to deal with. Scrawny legs kicking, little arms flailing, sharp voice wailing; he grabbed my arm and began to pummel with his free hand.

With him I took my time. One accurately measured blow to the side of his chest leveled him.
The female jumped to her feet and charged like a suicidal bull, blindly throwing herself into my stomach. I peeled her off me and smacked her across the face. Again!

She wouldn’t be dislodged that easily.

So I leveled her like I did her mate, landing one extra blow to make sure she stayed down. I considered leaving them there, prone as dead logs, but thought better of it. A ring of excited onlookers had formed around us.

“Here is to the silly taunts on the bus every morning,” I spat. With each word, I kicked-out at the two helpless beings, drawing an extended cry of agony from them.

Finally, I stopped kicking and stood there, heaving with fury, staring down at the two six-year olds I almost reduced to pulps of flesh.
I turned to leave. A path cleared within the ring of other students staring back at me in horror.

One boy hooted and several others joined in. Soon they were booing and chanting and running to go find a teacher. Any teacher. And the school nurse.
The injured six-year-olds lay there on the ground, groaning and crying.

“Did I feel sorry for them?” you ask, shocked beyond belief.

Well, to tell you the truth, I felt kinda satisfied. The two punks had it coming. They certainly did.

And it was totally their own fault.

How to purchase this novel:

1. Buy from Amazon.com

2. Buy from the publisher

3. Buy in Nigeria

For more info, excerpts and reviews of this novel, visit Bernard Books Publishing

Stuff about me...

So, I am the only child in my family–can’t say whether this is good or bad, but that’s just the way it is.

My dad’s name is Richard, and like I said before, he is a physician. He’s really tall (like, above six feet), dark and handsome. When people meet him these days, they keep saying he looks like Barack Obama!!! Lol!!! I guess they’re kinda right, after all, my dad, like our dear Mr. President, is a half-breed too. His dad (my grandfather) is from somewhere in Anambra State, Nigeria (I think it’s Neewi, Newwi, or somethin’ like that. Can’t remember the spelling!! Lol!!). My dad’s mom is from Gainesville, Georgia. Great match for the two of them, I must say, even though I never met them!!! How often do you get to have a Nigerian for a granddad and a totally white mom for a grandma? Totally cool, right?

My mom is an English Professor (Ph.D.) and her parents are both from Georgia. Now, them, I got to meet, but can’t remember. I was like two or three when they both passed on. What a bummer!!! My mom is quite tall for a woman and very prim and proper. Her name is Shelley, but she should have been called Margaret or somethin’ like that, cos she always gets on my case. Arrggh!!!

Okay, for the gist you’ve all been waiting for…

Sometimes, I wonder how or why my parents stuck together with each other for so long. Maybe it’s because of me…but I still wonder.

You see, my mom is a recovering alcoholic. Yeah, that means no booze in the house. Did you just say, “Hey, that sucks??!!” Well can’t blame ya! That’s the way things are at home. No booze, no beer, no nothin’ (Another reason I can’t host parties at home. Lol!!!). So, she had managed to stay clean for a long time never saw her take a drink until I was like, twelve? Thirteen? Oh yes! That would be a few months before my thirteenth birthday.

She tries to hide it, most of the time, but sometimes I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Mostly, my dad would pretend like he doesn’t notice, until she starts slurring her words or hurling stuff across the room (it’s sooo annoying when she does that. No, scary is more like it!!). This doesn’t happen often, though, only when she’s like anxious or totally bummed out about my dad’s promiscuity.

Hah! “Promiscuity?” you scream. Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?

My dad just diggs young ladies with pretty faces. It’s not like it’s a secret or any thing, he just has this cool way of studying sashaying blondes/brunnettes from under his lashes when he thinks my mom is not looking. But he’s only fooling himself cos I think my mom knows what he’s up to most of the time. She just keeps a stiff face and totally ignores him. Or pretend not to notice.

Gee!! Aren’t they like, good for each other? Yep!! Totally!! A married couple that live together and have totally disgusting vices — one is an alcoholic while the other is a philanderer (right word? Just thought I’d put my mom’s constant hype about learning new words to good use.) But you totally get the idea, right?

Well, don’t get me wrong. My parents may be bummers sometimes, but I totally love ‘em!!! At least, I do right now. Lol!!!

So now you’ve met Dr and Dr Ikedi, my next story will be about why they decided it was worth it to ship their only daughter off to an all-girls boarding school in Africa!!!

Watch out, I’ll be back with more!!!

Lotta luv,

Carlotta

To purchase novel visit Bernard Books Publishing