Three days later I was saying goodbye to my Dad and Bro, heading on a flight from Amsterdam to London and reading up on 'How to ace an interview'.
The Daily Grind
An insight into the life of Julian E. Obubo
Saturday, July 07, 2012
I've Been Neglecting You. Part I
Three days later I was saying goodbye to my Dad and Bro, heading on a flight from Amsterdam to London and reading up on 'How to ace an interview'.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The African Middle Class: Responding to Amber Rose
Amber Rose recently said this on her first visit to Ghana "what I’ve noticed about Africa since I’ve been here is that there’s extremely rich or extremely poor, there’s no middle class at all" she goes on and says "I’ll like to speak to the rich people and be like, what are you guys doing? help out a little bit" (notice she said ‘noticed about Africa', not Ghana, we're back to this notion of Africa as a homogenous block. How ridiculous would it sound for me to visit Portugal and say, 'what I've noticed about Europe is that')
I question her observational skills for one, she’s been in Ghana a few days, observing it mainly from tinted windows of a 4X4, and yet she feels she is in possession of enough social information to make such a statement as that.
But it doesn’t surprise me, I’ve read and heard many westerners make statements like that. I’ve heard people who are about to visit an African country for the first time say stuff like ‘I wanna visit the ‘real’ Africa’, 'real' is just code for poor. I think to myself, “but you’ve never been to Africa before, how do you know what is real and what isn’t” They have a prejudged script of how Africa is supposed to be, and in their heads they divide Africans into ‘authentic’ (a.k.a poor) Africans and 'inauthentic’ (middle class/rich) Africans. Poor Africans to them are the authentic ones, the ones that don’t challenge their views of Africa. When they see an African in a new German car with an iPod they just can’t compute that the wealth could have been acquired in any way but through a direct exploitation of the poor people they see. So the image of a wealthy African becomes offensive to them because they have come with their colonial/charitable mindset and here are Africans living in big houses not seemingly as worried about the poor as they (Westerners) are. Some travel to African countries to (temporarily) relieve their sense of guilt for living in a materialistic Western society, and the image of an African just as materialistic as they are challenges their views in what was supposed to be a trip about moral self flagellation and finding oneself (as you know, you can't find yourself around shiny cars and flat screen TVs, there have to be poor faces around, with flies casually perched on them, only in the midst of the less off can one realise the purpose of life.)
The problem is many Western amateur social critics, like Amber, never ask these questions about their own countries, Amber Rose can say to a rich Ghanaian, "why are you rich? and why don’t you give that naked kid clothes" as though a comparative disparity doesn’t occur in her country, the USA of all places, we all saw Katrina, we saw America’s underbelly, and it could rival this so called brand of African poverty.
So I can understand the frustration a lot of Africans feel when a Western lens goes to an African country and only records destitution, what they are doing is de-legitimizing the African middle-class, de-legitimizing our stories and histories, they are effectively saying we are traitors to our people because we've risen above what they percieve the standard of African living to be.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Breakfast in Bed
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Nigeria Dreamin' Part III
So, if the present isn’t all that rosy, what better place to go than to the past, as some of you probably know (from my last two Nigerian Dreamin’ posts) I have very fond memories of growing up in Nigeria in the 1990s. They were indeed fun and mostly happy times, and these posts are a way of reminiscing about those good old days, the celebrations, the recreation, the food, and of course, being kids; the punishment.
I think the biggest difference between living in Nigeria and living in the Netherlands can be found in the etiquette of guests. In Nigeria it’s not unusual for a friend to show up unannounced on a Saturday morning just to have a chat about relatives or politics. Nobody called in advance, or arranged a convenient date, you just showed up and hoped the person you were visiting was at home. If they weren’t, you either go back home, go visit another friend who lived nearby or come in and wait till your friend arrived. Even if my dad was sleeping, it was our duty as kids, not to politely turn the guest away, but to go up and wake daddy up, shaking him saying “Daddy, Daddy Mister So-so-and-so has come”. Daddy would rise up, wipe the sleep from his face and come down, and before long he and his guests would be laughing heartily.
There was the customary greeting of guests which was a bit of a ritual, it involved us kids coming, either en masse or one by one to greet the guest. We usually stood close to an exit so as not to prolong what was to be a quick affair. The guest would usually ask about what class you were in, and then make a flat comment like “You’re now a big boy eh” which sounded like a question, but was probably a remark, and so I’ll look at dad, as if to telepathically ask “Should I reply in the affirmative that I am indeed growing or is he mainly stating the obvious”
Once the guest had exhausted all the compliments he/she could give that was your cue to make a quick exit, this was important because some guests were quite...touchy, and would insist you come and sit next to them or on them and endure a three our conversation about fuel prices or Abacha, and you couldn’t really refuse, so you sat there, legs dangling, respectfully bored to death.
Sometimes, if we didn’t have any soft drinks, or beer at home we were sent to go get some cold ones from next door. If you were lucky, dad could give you some coke if you seemed to be quite helpful around, otherwise you waited till the guests left and then raided the living room for any remnants. I still don’t like Guinness till this day, but there was something quite satisfying as an eight year old, finishing the last bit of Guinness in the bottle, you felt adult, somewhat wiser, for this was what ‘real men’ drank afterall.
All play and no work makes Jack a dull boy
My grandma was always rather suspicious of our friends. I think she felt they were either too rude, too rough, or too “un-trained” or plainly didn’t know when they had overstayed their welcome (in Grandma’s eyes if you were still hanging around at dinnertime then you were way past your welcome). So on the occasions friends came over I made sure we went up to my Grandma’s room where I’ll introduce my friend, and they would greet her as politely as possible- this should ideally involve bowing, not looking agitated, and most importantly, remaining standing until dismissed by her, walking off before being formally dismissed was the height of disrespect. After Grandma’s approval, play could then commence.
Me and my super-awesome Grandmother
I think we got a PC in 1998, remember how computers looked back then? CPUs the size of suitcases, and monitors what were half your body weight. Oh and dial-up internet, which was used only sparingly, and took 5 minutes to load up a simple page. Ah, good days.
When we got the computer, dad gave us a lengthy lecture about its purpose- STRICTLY FOR EDUCATIONAL USES. He demonstrated this by buying us a load of CDs, with titles like ‘Human Body in 3D’ ‘GCSE Geography’ ‘Encyclopaedia Encarta’ etc. Of course as young kids our idea of a computers purpose was diametrically opposed to our father’s, and this was demonstrated by the programs we (covertly) installed on the computer, with titles like ‘Need for Speed’ ‘Mortal Kombat’ ‘Duke Nukem’ ‘Street Fighter’ etc
Part IV coming up soon, where I talk about celebrations and punishment.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Strange Things I Do Or Think
1- I don't like the sound of my voice when it's recorded (I sound like a walrus with a cold)*
Monday, October 25, 2010
Can We Get Much Higher? Kanye West and the future of hip-hop
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Twenty-Two
Yes, I'm one year older, finally 22. I say finally as if I couldn't wait to turn 22. In truth though, the past year has being the most eventful year of my life, as you probably know I spent most my time as a 21 year old in Newcastle, studying for a postgraduate degree in Media and Public Relations. Well, I'm glad to say that that degree is done, and yours truly is graduating with a distinction. Yay! I've never been prouder of any piece of work as I am of my last dissertation, I pored through journals, articles, books and a gazillion hip-hop songs while researching, and I'm very happy it turned out well. I had loads of help, and I'll post my acknowledgement at the end of this blog post.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my loving father Rodger Obubo first and foremost for his continued support and constant inspiration. Although this dissertation involved a topic that we could not easily discuss, he always gave me support and good guidance throughout the research and writing phase.
My second debt of gratitude goes to my ‘Facebook support team’ of Tokie Adebiyi, Rob Davies, William Smith, Rotimi Kuforiji and Afo Babatunde who not only showed interest in the work I was doing but also gave me suggestions as to possible lyrics or music videos I could analyse.
I’d like to thank Justin Tay for providing me with much needed distractions and entertainment during the laborious weeks of research and writing and for being an academic sparring partner on issues of identity, race and culture.
Thanks also goes to Dominik Plonner for his inquiries about my work and his probing questions which led to new ideas I could develop in the dissertation.
I owe a big thanks to the entire family at Jesmond Parish Church for their constant motivation and prayers (I needed that!)
I’d like to especially thank my lovely sister Laura for offering to proof read some of my writing and for her academic interest in my work.
I’d also need to thank Dr. Monica Figueroa for introducing me to advanced concepts of race and ethnicities and critical white studies.
To anybody who casually asked me what my dissertation topic was and had to bear through a ten minute monologue from me about why hip-hop is so fascinating, I do owe you all much thanks for getting my brain cogs moving.
My final and biggest thanks goes to my dissertation supervisor Dr. Carolyn Pedwell for her prompt and detailed feedback on drafts of my work and pointing me in the right direction when my ideas became a bit muddled.
I can only hope this work positively reflects the support you all have shown in different ways.
Muchas Gracias
Julian
Monday, September 27, 2010
Untitled
“Hoping that my tomorrows sympathize with my failures today, and somehow your departure would lead to your arrival at my door in years to come. And what was once a chapter would not end up a footnote. That which once blossomed will not wilt with the passage of time”