Please don't tell kids nothing...

I often joke about the fact that on the inside, I am a Peter Pan, I never grew beyond 6-8years old, but in reality, I am over 21... tee hee hee... not letting the cat out of the bag yet.

I have come to the realisation that age is nothing but a number and it really doesn’t matter that much, except to people who are insecure enough to feel you owe them something because, by accident of nature, they happen to be born before you...

OK, I have digressed from the outset, so I had better get on to the straight and narrow, eyes on the ball now, focus on the subject matter without deviation.

I took my kids to school the other day and I remember meeting one of the mums at one of the school events.  We got into conversation about people not acting their age and how boys will always be boys and stuffs like that.  This lady lectured me on how important it is to be matured and sensible and why girls will find it difficult to cope with boys their age or younger.

As the conversation drifted, I asked her if she has ever dated someone younger or her age, she said she had not and that, they are usually too childish to cope with her level of maturity.  I took a deep breath and smiled.  She is Nigerian and the husband/partner is not.

I could be rather mischievous at times and this was one of those days that I wanted to play out my little mischievous boyish nuances.  I asked her when her birthday would be and she showed that she is truly Nigerian by answering a question with a question... tee hee hee... “why did you ask?” was her response.

I told her I was just curious, but she should not bother, so I excused myself, walked away for a few seconds, then started playing with her son.  I did a little “rough play” of push, pull, then carry and run.  He got into a state as boys do and wanted more, so I stopped and said I will not continue unless he told me when is mummy’s birthday.

I thought, that was “wicked” as she gave an evil grin to the boy, and said “don’t you dare”.  Well, boys will always be boys and kids don’t have the same matured attitude of holding back information when you ask them something they know...tee hee hee...

He spilled the bin, let the cat out of the bag, “mummy’s birthday is October 2nd and she will be 43”, I carried him and ran away, laughing all the way... and when we came back, he reminded mummy that she is 4 years older than daddy and that when they argue she often tell daddy she is not his mate and that he is too childish.

Now that is below the belt, that was not information meant for my ears and that little boy should not have said that in public.  I did not know how to respond to that.  If I carried him and ran again, that will be a terrible mistake and completely unacceptable even for a man who is just about 8years old on the inside and just a little over 21 years of age... tee hee hee... its not funny actually...

I could not look at this lady for a few seconds, because I dreaded her reaction and wondered how she will respond to that one.  She kept her cool, put on a brave face, gave another evil grin to this little boy, snapped her finger, telling him “when we get home, we will have this conversation again!!!”   I felt sorry for my little friend, because, I guessed he will surely not get away with that answer to a question never asked.

I remember one of my kids asking me how old I was and my spontaneous response was that I was as old as I felt that morning.  I tickled her to submission, refused to stop until she stopped asking the question.  Then I told her I feel like a 6 year old boy. “Come on Daddy” was all she could say after making her laugh so much from the tickling.

I have learnt a long time ago that whatever you do not want your child to do or say in public, do not do or say it even in the most private area of your house when the child is nearby.  If you insult your husband, wife or spouse at home, your kid will tell the world at one of the most embarrassing moments and usually unexpected time.

I witnessed an incident this morning that inspired this blog.  It was amusing, though not very funny, as a lady had two kids to take to school.  I was coming behind her when the station staff said she cannot go in unless she pays for a ticket for her son that is about 9 years old.  I jumped in to support her protest and told the guy, that no one is aware that you should pay for travelcard for a 9 year old.

This guy insisted that was what the letter of the law said and the lady will need to make the payment to get a chance of taking the next train.  She was not a happy bunny as she fished for some coins in her purse.  She brought out a note, about to pay and guess what, the younger sister told the cashier, without being asked or prompted, “I am 6 years old, would mummy need to pay for me too”.  The guy smiled and said, “yes, now that I know, she will surely have to buy a ticket for you too my dear”.

If looks could kill, that sweet and innocent girl, would have died instantly.  I wanted to roar with laughter, but could not, as I wonder, why on earth did she say that.  I got hot under the collar as I no longer found it funny and was just bewildered why kids would not keep quiet at the appropriate time.  Instead, they seem to exercise the right to speak even when no one had asked them any question.

I thought about my own growing up years and what would have been the result of that from my or other parents.  I knew instantly that it would have resulted in slaps and pinch and knock on the head to warn you not to open your mouth when you are not being spoken to or  asked question.

It takes a man or woman of a certain generation and cultural background to remember those knocks on the head that can be so painful and evil to the point where your eyes will start dripping with involuntary water from the after effect of that knock... Oh my gosh, tears will well up and in one blinking moment, it will drop like torrents of rain... tee hee hee... its actually not funny at all... that will be described as child abuse these days...

Now I have come full circle and my thought is that kids these days need to learn to “shush” as its considered rude these days to tell children to “shut up”.  If you don’t want to train your child in this permissive side of the world to go around telling people to “shut up”, then you will chose not to use those words.

Swearing and cursing is an absolute no, no... Any parent with some integrity, class and self-respect will definitely be embarrassed to hear their child say rude things to other kids in public.  I don’t know a lot of people that will be smiling when their 7 or 8 or 9year old, in public glare, speak out loud and say “look at that stupid man he is going to bump into some with the way he is walking”.  But guess what, parents call other drivers “stupid”, “idiot”, b**ch and other such rude words when driving with kids in the car.

If you don’t want your child to broadcast in public that your spouse is a lazy man that is no good, or that your woman is stupid woman, then do not ever say thing like that in their vicinity or hearing distance.

One must acknowledge that there are situations where one can not win with kids.  What do you say to the kids that tell the ticket cashier “I am 6 years old, will mummy need to pay for me too?”  Do you tell that child never to speak the truth or never to let people know her real age?

I love kids, they are so refreshing and sweet and innocent and so sincere in the way they communicate, they never seem capable of pulling punches.  As a parting short, I was in a cab with my daughter the other day, she had just finished Judo class and she sat in the back, while I was in the front seat.

She asked me a simple and innocent question, “Daddy what will happen to anyone that eat a lot of junk food and never ever find time to exercise?”

I nearly died, because the cab driver happened to be an Asian guy that is not just obviously overweight, he must be clinically obese, he also had leftover of his KFC snacks beside him.  How would you respond... lol....

PS. She told me later at home that the Judo Instructor told them to eat just a little junk food and exercise a lot.  She wanted to know what I think because I jog regularly and I often tell them I don't like junk food, so MacDonalds is a treat, not a regular meal.... lol...

Breast feeding on Central Line

I was on Central Line today on my way back home from church. I saw a cute little boy, chubby cheeks without being fat, angelic blues eyes with a good head of blonde hair, and I reckon he should be about 2 years old.


This little cherub has one heart-melting smile that will make you just want to hug and cuddle him. I could not stop smiling as this cute little thing gave me a big smile that made the entire coach glow with warmth. I looked around me and I could sense a warm feeling as everyone seemed to be smiling just because of this sweet charmer.

Well, the mum had him on her lap and she smiled too. She is obviously beautiful, seemingly curvy and shapely, wearing a nice dress, low cut showing some cleavage and the summation is that this beautiful and well dressed woman has a cute son on her lap. Listening to a few things she said to the boy in English, I reckon she must be Eastern European.

I sat directly opposite this lady and the son and without much ado, I was going to just bring out my notebook and bible as there were points I was pondering about after service and wanted to check before it all fades away as is usually the case when you don’t write down theological issues you have reason to doubt or check it instantly.

The little boy’s smile evolved into making faces at me and the 6year old boy in me took control and I started making faces at him too. First he giggled, and then he went into full blown hearty laughter that got the attention of everyone on the train. Now I was looking like the silly old man as he continued to laugh at every expression on my face, then I thought, OK, this has to stop now, else I may seem like I am the one enjoying the attention.

Like most boys his age, attention span is short, so without any notice to what he was going to do next, he dipped his hand into his mother’s dress at the top, and right “in my face” brought out her breast, snuggled up and was helping himself to some breast milk.

If I was not a black dude, I would have gone completely red, but guess what, my cheeks became hot and my eyes nearly popped out. The mother seemed completely unperturbed and she even made it easier for him, undid a button and further exposed herself in public glare without as much as making an attempt to cover up a bit.

Suddenly, I was extremely self conscious as this woman is plonked right in front of me and did not seem bothered that she has a big boob fully exposed and she is right in front of me and a sizable number of guys and ladies on the train on a busy Sunday afternoon.
Everyone else seems to have someone to look at or talk to or another direction to face except me. I could not look right or left without being aware that I am making strong effort not to stare. I wanted to show I am not embarrassed for some weird reason, but I was and could not hide it. Gosh this is not good, on a Sunday afternoon, just after church...

I felt like a pervert, because, in my head, I tried to blank it all out, then my mind started playing tricks on me, working out whether she was about 34DD or larger, Oh my gosh, please stop, don’t think, don’t look, don’t close your eyes, because then the image becomes more vivid, what do I do?

If I had gotten up and moved to another seat, I will look like a really bad guy that does not like women breastfeeding kids, seating still was difficult. When I opened my bible, it seems the only word printed was boobs, boobies and breasts because that was the image my head conjured. Oh Father forgive me, for my mortal frailties... (Amen)
OK, I decided to put the bible aside and start writing my thoughts to focus my mind on something. Then my little friend stopped suddenly and said “y’ello” to me as if to mock me, I managed a brave “hi”, the mum smiled, the boy laughed out loud, the whole coach looked again and this woman’s breast was still in public glare and the boy went straight back to it again.
I concluded, there should be a law that prevents this from happening on the train. No woman should be allowed to display herself like this while on the train on a Sunday afternoon, when folks like me are coming back from church. It’s totally out of order and completely unacceptable.
To be serious now, there is no reason for her not to have a shawl or something to cover herself while the son is getting fed. I have nothing against breast feeding, infact, I think its fantastic for a mother to breastfeed rather than offer the kid crisps and chocolates. But on the other hand, I did not think its right to do it the way she has opted to display herself in public.
Come to think about it, at what age should a mother stop breastfeeding anyway. I am not sure, but I would think a child should not be breastfed once they are two years old or they have teeth and can eat solids.
While all this thoughts were going on in my head, the lady patted the little boy on the head, moved him away, cupped the breast in her hand and put it back where it belongs. She smartened up quickly and at Liverpool Street, up and on her way out, she gave me a big smile, said bye, and asked the son, “will you say bye to OUR friend?” That I thought was cheeky, my cute little friend said bye and I gave him a quick hi-five.
The middle aged white guy seating next to me with his girlfriend gave me a look and went “phew” then said “you did not look comfortable there at all”. I gave a wry smile and said, absolutely not, were you? He said even his girlfriend thought that was unnecessary especially as the boy was not a baby as such.
Now the questions that continue to plague my mind include, why would a woman choose to expose herself like that in public, why breastfeed a 2 years old on the train, why make a show of it and seem unconcerned, what level of loneliness or insecurity will make a woman continue to breastfeed a child even when it’s obvious the child is at an age he/she does not need to be breastfed anymore?

I will be asking my female friends what they make of this and will be good to know the thoughts of women about this. In the interim, I may have to write to Central Line Train operators (TfL) to ask if that kind of attitude that embarrasses their customers should be allowed on their trains. It will surely be interesting to hear what Transport for London (TfL) spin-doctors (Customer Services) will say.

Is it not you people in London? :-)

I was at an event recently where I sat beside the Governor of one of the states in the East of Nigeria.  Someone talked about the fact that Nigerians in Diaspora constitute a huge force and could influence the future of Nigeria come 2011 election.  The governor laughed out loud and said, “Mr. Kay that is a dream that we will not be actualised with this generation”. 

I thought that was unfair and asked him why he made that statement, he responded in a very firm tone with a rhetorical statement “Is it not you people in London, can you raise £1000 today in London, look Mr. Kay, start calling people you have their numbers and tell them you want to raise £1000 for politics, most of them will stop taking your calls or tell you long stories about bills and tax”.

I was tempted to put my mobile on speaker phone and make a few calls to secure commitment from people that I want to raise £1000 as His Excellency the Governor said, but I allowed common sense to prevail and not react immediately.  I told him, he was underestimating Nigerians in Diaspora and that his perspective on how Nigerians abroad behave and respond is based on the fact that a lot of people at home in Nigeria have a warped image of how easy it is to make money here in the UK and then expect us to spend lavishly.

But I knew in my heart that I was making excuses for a lot of brothers and sisters in diaspora.  Yes we have challenges living abroad, yes the tax system here in the UK does not challenge Nigerians alone, but my friends who are consultants and executives also complain about the fact that you give almost half of your salary to government as tax once you go over a threshold.  When my accountant does my tax return, I always wish I do not have to pay so much in tax, but I look around me and the necessities of life that the tax has contributed to making happen.

Let me not digress because I was unhappy with the Governors dismissal of Nigerians in Diaspora as people with limited or no passion for Nigeria beyond just complaining, whinging and groaning about thieving politicians who are not doing much to improve the lots of the country.  But then, I also know that if you fail to put your money where your mouth is, you might as well be described as one speaking through the area of the body that never see sunshine, if you catch my drift.

This incident is less than a week old and an opportunity presented itself last night as I got a call that a Nigerian who has passion for politics in the UK is on the verge of being elected as Mayor of Southwark and will be sworn in this week.  I was being myself when I made a few calls to spread the news that our friend and brother will become the first Nigerian Mayor in a Borough that is known to have a large population of Nigerians.

I made a couple of calls and asked that those who are living and running businesses in Southwark should join hands with me to put some money together for us to organise something for our Brother/Friend, to celebrate him, showing our appreciation of his tenacity and diligence.  I am not asking that we give the Mayor money, the option was to arrange an event where he will be Guess of Honor and we all show support and encouragement.

Let me make a point clear here, I do not live in Southwark, I do not run business there, I have never gained anything in that borough or needed any assistance from the council, so definitely my intention, to the best of my knowledge is sincere and honourable and designed to show that our people do understand the power of unity in achieving purpose and influence.

Without going into a long story, the people I called said yes, its a sure thing for them, but we should get a handful of others so that the fund raised will be considerable and achieve something more worthwhile.  Well, they made some calls and both of them came back this morning to complain about how our people never seem to see beyond their noses and yet expect to be people of influence.

No matter how many hours and days you spend in church and other religious environment, God will not come down to make you a person of influence and secure respectability for you.  My Dad in his days used to talk about the fact that your heart and wealth are intertwined.  If all you seek is money, you may never really be truly rich because money was never designed to be the end, rather, it is means to an end.

The lesson in this whole experience is that a random and unintended sample of people proved His Excellency the Governor right.  I wonder if I say that I am interested in becoming chairman of a local government in Nigeria, state governor or senator, I guess the people that will be asked to support my ambition will be saying the same old thing that has kept a lot of our people outside the sphere of influence they would love to operate... “What will he do for me when he gets in there” or “why should I spend my money to support him?”

I have a penchant for not dwelling on a problem, I like to focus on solution, both at work and outside work environment, my passion is to be solution-driven in all my dealings.  So what do we do about this and how do we see a solution implemented?  I am sure a sizable number of people that would read this blog will fall into category of those that would do nothing when they are asked to put money into anything, apart from big owambe parties that enables them to show off the wealth they acquired from flashing credit cards that they are struggling to pay back.

OK Mr Kay, focus on solution now... J fine, I will, so here we go... a challenge to my facebook friends, show your colour and show your hands.  I would like to collect a list of names of people that are happy to put their money where their mouth is, so step one, put a note below stating you will be happy to put your money where your mouth is in terms of influencing change in Nigeria. Step two, send your contact details to my inbox and I will discuss a project that I believe can influence or impact change in Nigeria. Step three, be ready to make your money work for you and secure that which you will not get unless you put something into it – as you know, where you invest nothing, you end up getting nothing, unless of course you are a thief, rogue and criminal J

Come to think of it, we talk about what is wrong with Nigeria so regularly and expect change, some people even go to church and pray for change, their Pastors and church leaders speak in tongues and others have their Alfas and Juju men chant to the oracles they believe in so that miracles or magic will happen.

There is no magic or miracle that will change Nigerian situation, we have to be the change we are praying and hoping for.  We have to be able to put our time, our money, and our other resources on the table to enable positive things happen to our beloved country.

I am waiting to see the handwritings on my wall, I will not hold my breath in the hope that 100 will be inspired, rather I will hope that I have stirred something that could lead to something which can then lead to something... if you catch my drift or follow my roundabout way of saying what you already know... tee hee hee...

Anyway, this is no laughing matter, show your hand so I know who are the Nigerians inspired or aspiring to become people of influence in the shaping of the future of our nation.

I am in search of "DILIGENT FRIENDS"

I was a bit of a rascal when I was in Federal Government College, Kano and the Principal of the school, described me as virus that spreads and cause all kinds of problems, so he told me parents to find another school for me, where I will be uncomfortable so that this viral infection can not grow or spread.


I was moved from one of the best schools in the country to one of the schools that can be aptly described as local – in the sense of being pedestrian, underachieving, with students that wear shorts instead of normal Trousers at FGC, Kano, and instead of nice pairs of shoes, they wore sandals or in some cases, bathroom slippers, because some of them were from such poor homes, their substitute to slippers will be to come to school bare feet.

I was moved from the “great” Federal Government College, Kano, where the students were from some of the richest families, middle to upper class of the country, elite kids from homes where summer is spent abroad, to then go to a school where the average student was born and grew up in Otta, the boundary area or as I would put it then, the middle of no-where between Lagos and Ogun States.

This is a story I will tell someday and the experiences can be likened to how a friend of mine described the BBC’s “Welcome to Lagos”. This friend said that the programme has some amount of hilarious comedy in it, making one laugh and some bits of it bring tears to one’s eyes because of the abject poverty on display.

However, the essence of this preamble is the Principal at Iganmode Grammar School, Otta, he ensured that every single morning at the assembly, he never failed to put a new spin on his favourite saying “seest though a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.”

Where am I going with this, especially as I have not made any reference to the subject matter? OK, let me put it in perspective, when you think of the top ten most powerful leaders in the world, there is often the understanding that the President of U.S.A. seat at the top of that list. The Prime Minister of United Kingdom will be in the mix of the next 3 to 4 names.

If I am diligent in my business, including the politics of governing the country that is now my home, then of course, I should be standing before the Queen, and of course the leaders of this nation. I should be rubbing shoulders with them and asking questions about what their plans are for this country where my children are growing up. I should be positioned to network with them and secure acknowledgement that my vote counts and my ideas, thoughts and views could potentially influence or inform their policies, decision and strategies for governance.

Well, this little boy-rascal has grown out of that rascality and become a diligent man that is trained, educated and now aspires to greater things than he has achieved so far. I am keen to see my presence in a place contribute to development of groundswell or impact change in that commune. That will not happen if I sit on my hands and do nothing, because those who give excuses for not being able to influence, cause or impact change cannot be described as diligent.

A “mean man” according to a dictionary is one who is “ignoble, base, miserly, stingy, low in quality or grade, low in value or amount, low in social status, selfish in a petty way”. I will choose to now put myself in situation where I share the same space with “mean men” because what they do is moan, groan and whinge about anything and everything. They are never diligent enough to get up and contribute their quota to anything.

So, now I have gone full circle and would want to know who should be out of the list of people I can call friends or even acquaintance. Who can I deem worthy of calling to join me when I stand before kings, king-makers and leaders that are recognised worldwide?

I will be at the BLACK BRITAIN DECIDES this Wednesday the 28th of April 2010 at 6.30pm, to join other diligent black people in Britain. The intention is to have a show of face to let the eventual leader of this country know that my vote will count in the decision to see any political party emerge as party of government.

In securing my vote, the emerging leader will have to give a thought to what my needs are, what my aspirations are, what kind of Britain do I want to live and raise my children in. I will want to hear what the programme of the leader will be and hear the leader confirm he cares about me and understand that being black in Britain comes with its own challenges and he is planning to make life better for me and my children because I am diligent member of this society.

You can find more details about the event by checking this website: www.BlackBritainDecides.com

You can register to attend and I hope a large number of my friends will show they are diligent too and do not sit on their hands doing nothing only to moan, groan and whinge when government fail to meet the needs of the black population of this country. If we do not get them to commit to anything as baseline programme, then there is nothing to challenge them on if they deliver nothing for our community.

I look forward to seeing my diligent friends meeting Messrs Gordon Brown, David Cameron and Nick Clegg this Wednesday 28th of April 2010 at 6.30pm. Venue is:

The Methodist Church,

Methodist Central Hall,

Westminster, London,

SW1H 9NH.

Voluptuous, beautiful and awesomely talented – would you vote for her?

I left home at exactly 7a.m. this morning to catch my usual bus, but somehow, I missed it by a few seconds, despite the fact that I ran all the way to the bus stop and even spilled some of my coffee. Fortunately, the coffee did not spill on my suit, thanks to the presence of mind that I remembered to put a paper napkin on the lid so that it soaked the spillage.

Sometimes I do push my luck with timing things to the very last minute and it backfired today leading to a few seconds mistimed and missing the bus. But I won’t complain as it led to a chain of events which in some ways seem almost like “Sliding Doors” the film starring Gwyneth Paltrow, but without the tragedy of the film... awww thank God for that... :-)

Well, I would normally take the bus to Grays Station, but since I missed it, I took the next bus, heading off to Chafford Hundred Station. Imagine a guy running with a big bag on his back, seemingly heavy because my laptop is in there too, and my jacket on one arm, then my coffee cup from Starbucks on the other.

That’s not all, my two mobile phones on one hand, and guess what, I had my wallet in my bag on my back, so with both hands full, coffee spilling out of Starbucks coffee mug that should normally not spill and both hands kept in use, I strolled on to the bus on the other side of the road. Mind you, my shirt collar was still up because my tie is yet to be knotted and I pretty much must have looked like some bloke chased out of the house... not funny but true.

The bus driver had one look at me, asked where I am going to know what ticket to give me and how much I will be charged. I told him its Chafford Hundred station return, “that will be £2.40 matey” he said with a hand outstretched to collect money.

I had to put all my stuff down on one side to get to rummage through my backpack for my wallet and two ladies behind me, one seem in a hurry to get through and the other smiling gently encouraging me to get on with it. I stepped aside for the lady in a hurry to pay and go on, told the tall, beautiful and smartly dressed lady to go on to. But she told me not to worry, I got distracted by the smile, stylish trouser suit and I could not help noticing the hour-glass shape. Hey, the driver was waiting and getting impatient, so he I had to snap out quickly and get the wallet out to pay. I paid as quickly as possible and started packing my stuffs and getting myself together.

I could smell a whiff of nice perfume, I had a feeling it must have been Jean Paul Gaultier or something more delicately sweet. The lady was behind me asking if she could help, I handed over my jacket and coffee mug, grabbed my bag, phones and wallet and followed her to a seat near the door.

I thanked her profusely and she was almost going red in the face, asking me to stop saying thank you and mumbled something about me being too polite. I sorted out my tie, shirt collar, put my phones and wallet in my backpack collected my jacket, put it on and then collected my coffee mug. She introduced herself as Chrissy and we got into conversation about what she does and so on.

Chrissy is a lawyer that works in the city with one of the big firms, she did not tell me her age, but I guess she must be in her early thirties and enjoying her career, chipping into our conversation that career comes first, so family is secondary at this stage of her life. She is Caucasian, exceptionally beautiful, softspoken and very articulate. The kind of lady that you listen to, even when she is not making sense, you simply enjoy the presence.

Well, Chrissy is interested in politics and wants to sort out some stuff she is currently working on over the next couple of years, then she will go into politics. She is one of those swing voters that waits till close to election to decide if she will be Tory, Labor or Libdem and she is holding fire for now to decide who she casts her vote for in the forthcoming election.

I got to Chafford Hundred, shook Chrissy’s hand and told her I will be putting this morning’s incident on my blog and she promised to read it... :-) and I hope she does.

But where I am going with this is the issue of who will you be voting for on 6th of May 2010. There is the potential problem of hung parliament and the idea that the black vote could become the new swing vote that could change the polls and eventual results of this election.

A silly thought in my head was, if Chrissy was one of the political party leader today and asks for your vote, would you be trooping out with your entire family and friends to go vote for Labor, Tory or Libdem, because of this voluptuous, intelligent, beautiful and really sweet person is the leader or would you just not be bother.

I am then pondering, why would majority of our people, Afro-Caribbean and Africans including the ones referred to as Black British, choose to avoid stepping in the polling booth to be counted as one of those that influence the future and direction of this nation.

What would it take to get the average black Joe Blogg in the UK to go to the polling booth on Thursday the 6th of May 2010. If there is an answer, to that, I guess if I know it, I could work wonders in this country, but even if its not one strategy fits all, I will be keen to know why would you vote and why not.

Meanwhile, as if that was not enough to spice my morning, I then got to the station and ran into a good friend, one of those Nigerians who has done supremely well working within the community and driving the agenda of helping the young black population in the UK to find direction, footing, voice and give them reason to believe they can.

My friend is a Pastor and in recognition of his work in the community, he has been honoured by the Queen with Member of the British Empire (MBE). He has met with most of the political leaders in the UK, has been actively involved in helping the police combat the Black on Black crimes, working with young, black kids who are disenfranchised and sometimes expelled from school.

Pastor Nims Obunge (MBE) is a family friend and just as I got through the barrier at Chafford Hundred station, he looked up with a smile and asked me how I was doing. We quickly exchanged pleasantaries and got into discussion about 6th of May election.

The rest of my conversation for this interesting morning will be continued, but before that comes, check out this website Pastor Nims asked me to log on to when I get to the office – www.BlackBritainDecides.com

... :-) to be continued....

... On the issues of FRIENDS... :-)

Old friends, new friends and good friends, bad friends


I was having a chat with a new friend this morning and I am yet to physically meet her, but we do talk on the phone frequently and I am at ease to call her a friend. I choose my friends carefully, so when people ask me if someone is my friend, more often than not, I say I know them, or we have met a few times or they talk to me often but we are not really friends, in other words, that person is an acquaintance.

I do this because it’s not everyone that I have spoken to or met via facebook or even at work that I can truly call a friend. Guess some people would wonder now if they are my friend, well, I must confess, I have very very few friends and even fewer close friends.

Why all this talk about friends, its because a friend, a true friend completely amazed me and confirmed the interesting assumption that “old friends are more dependable than new ones”.

This fantastic friend whom I have not seen for more than 20years attended same secondary school with me (Federal Government College, Kano) and we only reconnected via facebook recently. He is a medical doctor and practices back home in Nigeria. It was great to hook up with an old friend, and over 20 years seemed like only yesterday as we chatted, exchanged emails and when he was in London recently for a series of meetings, we did find time to have lunch in the west end.

I mentioned to him the state of my aging Mum’s health and he told me not to worry that he will “try” and check her out. Well, I did not want to put pressure or make requests so left it as “he may not do anything” so that if he does not act at all, it will not be a big issue. But I was surprised when he sent a text to ask for my Mum’s number.

He called my Mum, went to see her, checked her out, diagnosed and prescribed medication she needed. He sent his driver to deliver the medication the very next morning. My mum was full of praises for my friend and had been praying for him every day as mothers do.

I called to thank my friend and ask how much the medication cost so I can arrange payment and he gave me a good ticking off saying that I should not insult him. “What are friends for and would you not do the same for me if you were in this situation?” he asked. I knew I would do the same, but the “prim & proper English gentleman” side of me did not want to take advantage of friendship or make assumption that an offer is free until it is explicitly declared free.

This experience left me with a deep sense of gratitude and confirmed my vision of what a good friend really is, one does not find many people called friends that would stand in the gap for one. My friend acted more like a brother, he chose to not take any gratification beyond an expression of appreciation, showing the type of kindness that is becoming rare these days.

While discussing this experience with my new friend, we went into analysis of the kind of friends that one make now in London and how Nigerians have come to realise that London is a “leveller” and Nigeria is a “sorter”. Those who will read this and are Nigerians will surely have heard these terms before.

London is a leveller because everyone live in flats, 2-3 bedroom houses, detached, semi-detached or end of terrace and so on. You do not need to have education or earn megabucks to own a landrover freelander or BMW, a good or even not so good credit rating sets you up to ride a new car. Most of us, including even the Mayor of London use the London Underground or Buses and some even ride bicycles, and this is inspite of each person’s financial, political or social background.

Back home in Nigeria, there are people you know would not associate with you because of your position, education, social and financial background and other stuffs like that. It’s not because you are stuffy snub, but simply because the places you go to and the people you interact with are just not in the same league with them. In essence, your friends will be “birds of the same feather”.

That paints a vivid picture of where some of us come from (Nigeria), but the story here is not about Nigeria, London or leveller/sorter, it’s about who we call friends. Everybody on facebook is a celebrity of some kind because they put on nice outfit, take pictures at nice restaurants, clubs and places, look nice with very nice profiles on facebook and so on... but the truth is you can not be sure what kind of creature some of them are... 

A lot of so-called friends we make on facebook live in the world of make-believe, they are as unreal as the virtual world they created for themselves. I hear stories of heartbreaks, complicated relationships, people changing status from single to married and in less than a month moving on to complicated. It is nothing short of mind-boggling. Yet a lot of these folks claim to be someone’s friend.

When you have a friend with incredible amount of inconsistencies in their lives, do you not wonder what kind of person they are? I have been able to connect with a few people on facebook, and when some tell me stories based on their experiences or what they have heard, I feel like doing what our parents used to do to a child considered stupid... Give them a hard knock on the head so that their tiny brain will be shaken up inside that hollow skull and as their eyes water with the pain inflicted, it will wash away the thin film of rubbish blinding them to reality. Arrgggghhhh...

I do pride myself in being able to connect with people at all levels of social, economic and educational ladder. Its part of what makes me successful in my line of business because if I fail to relate well with certain calibre of people, my projects could easily experience failure.

The only issue is, relating and connecting with everyone does not really make everyone your friend, doe it? I will be keen to hear more stories about new friends, especially those made online.

The mantra from my fantastic friend, who is also a motivational speaker is usually “what did you learn from the experience and what would you do differently” if you end up in the same situation again?

Can’t wait to know what the people think, say or feel...

Central Line Embarrassed me this morning... :-(

I was faced… literally faced with an embarrassing situation this morning and if I was Caucasian, I will have been so red in the face that the heat generated will be enough to light a cigarette. This is not funny but then it may sound like it is.


I boarded the Central Line Train from Stratford this morning and it was jam-packed. I happened to be in a hurry to get to the office because its my last day at work, starting new project next week, and wanted to ensure all gets done.

We got squashed in and shoved a bit more as more people crammed into the coach I was on at Stratford, then unfortunately for me a very smartly dressed, tall and slim lady standing face-to-face with me decided it was too crowded and shoved her way through to exit the train. The implication was that a couple of people that were probably claustrophobic decided to step out too.

Now to the embarrassing situation I faced, the lady that I have not noticed at all, just beside me happened to be on the large size side and moved a little to occupy the space the smartly dressed mixed-race lady left, when she stepped out.

Because two or three people stepped out, other folks in a hurry decided they will find a way to fit into the incredibly crammed space, and its difficult to blame them, when its rush hour in London.

Bang, they pushed and shoved and the large lady, obviously top-heavy as some people would say squashed me full frontal and gave a wry embarrassing smile and murmured “sorry…”. The word sorry that I was going to utter got choked in my throat as I looked around to find myself virtually sandwiched between two big ladies and on the side is another obviously well endowed lady on the lower side and she is not that tall..

Now picture this, in front of me is a woman that does not seem to be able to move or even breath without me feeling the movement of her big bust on my chest and just behind is a similar situation, though not as bad, because she maneuvered her way to ensure she created a little space so every little jostling or movement of the train means my arms get rammed by something cushy that I refused to think about.

All I could do was start praying and telling my spirit that this is the work of the devil. The thought of Joseph being seduced by Pharaoh’s wife played in my head like a film and Joseph’s reaction as stated by the bible was to run so quickly that his robe got left behind in Pharaoh’s wife’s hand.

But then I am not in Egypt, this is not Pharaoh’s palace so there is no way I can run out of a moving train that is packed like sardine tin. I thought about speaking in tongues under my breath so that the thought of what is facing me and rubbing my back will not overwhelm me.

Oh Central Line, why did you put me in this embarrassing situation, I thought. It got worse as there was a delay so the train stopped before it got to the next station. Then a little stop-start movement that got everyone falling on one another almost literally. This is so not funny as the busty big lady in front of me must have been thinking of the weather man’s words that it’s a warm day, so she had opted to show a bit more cleavage than usual and ensure my neck needed to be strained.
What do you do when confronted with a sight like that because the only place I could look was the ceiling so it does not seem like I am staring at something I should not and was not..

I remembered the Fulham v Juventus story in the Metro and thought I should use that as decoy by burying my head in the newspaper, but movement of my hand seem to rub the back side of the other big lady and I could feel a sweat of embarrassment break on my forehead. I realized I can not extricate my hand or the Metro, and the lady looked me in the face, I muttered an inaudible sorry and she was no doubt and eastender, saying “aye, that’s ok, we’re stuck in here together…”

Fortunately, the train regained “full consciousness” and the driver announced the train that was stuck at the next station has moved, so we are now able to go on. He apologized for the delay and I felt like screaming “move the hell on and forget the apologies… I will be complaining about this embarrassment no doubt…”

Fortunately quite a few people disembarked at Liverpool Street, giving me some breathing space and as soon as I discovered a seating space, I ran for it, removed my blazer as I could feel the heat under my collar.

When I eventually got to Bond Street station which is nearest to my office, I spoke with one of the station managers, complaining about my embarrassment and asking for a complaint form. He gave me the form and in a very dry humor style, he said he wished he had been in my situation, he would surely not be complaining. I felt like giving him a knock on his bald head so his pervert brain will get into proper shape.

I will be asking for compensation from Central Line (London Underground) because now I am scared of being in small enclosure with too many people, especially if some of them are big ladies…. Its not funny… :-(

Conversation with Donald Duke – The initiator of TINAPA

I got an email recently inviting me to an interactive session and dinner with the erstwhile Governor of Cross River State of Nigeria.  I had a quick look to be sure someone is not playing trick and definitely not a hoax.  I am aware of the various scams ongoing amongst our “yahoo yahoo” brothers as they are called.

In fact, a few colleagues had an accident on a business trip to Nigeria recently and we started making quick arrangement to sort out their flight to get them back to London so they can receive better medical attention.  Well, two of them are based here in London, so its just a change of flight details required, but one of them, an Architect, is based in Nigeria and needed a Visa to come here for treatment as he sustained broken limb in the accident.

I called the London Orthopaedic Clinic to state our line of business and the fact that we need a letter to get the gentleman a visa as he is coming for private medical treatment.  Our company is anxious about his well-being and happy to pay whatever it will cost to ensure he gets the best medical attention money can buy.

Well… well… well… a little shock, but not completely surprising, the London Orthopaedic Clinic staff told me that she has been asked not to write any letter for anyone coming for treatment from Nigeria.  The immigration has caught on to a substantial scam and now warned them not to respond to such request.

“Flabber-whelmed and over-ghasted”??? an understatement of sorts I must say, but no, its just so very sad as the action of a few has now been used to judge millions and deprive the majority of something that should normally be straightforward and automatic when you have the money to pay.

Anyway, back to the subject matter, or as my nephews in the Nigeria will say, “back to the koko of the matter” J.  I had a good look at the invitation and contacted the organizers of the “Interactive Session and Dinner with Donald Duke” and I was told its not a scam and I am invited to meet the man himself.

Well, I had an afternoon tea Donald Duke yesterday and we talked about Nigeria, why he is setting up an Interactive Session, what his thoughts are about the station of the nation (Nigeria), where the solution could come from and what he is happy to contribute to the resolution of the problems in Nigeria.

It was meant to be a quick half an hour conversation, but it turned out to be over an hour, plus plus as one of my former Project Support staff will say when meetings over-run.

Donald Duke confessed to being embarrassed by the actions of his political party the PDP, in not clearly supporting the Acting President, but instead stating a claim to affirm the fact that the PDP zoning of Presidency to the North remains consistent and more important to steering the ship of state away from the current doldrum.

My understanding of this situation is that PDP is more interested in seeing to it that Mr Yar’adua, now incapacitated –though would not admit it, may fail to complete this term or even aspire to contest next election, the party will have no concern about the state of the nation and their only concern is which zone of the country provides the next president.

Donald Duke made bold to say that his primary interest now is to see how many Nigerians will stop the typical “just talk attitude” and put their energy, talent and effort into ushering in a change to the Nigerian polity.

All of what he shared with me are incontrovertible facts and truly compelling and I was nodding my head with a smile on my face because its not often you get someone who has been in a leadership position speak straight and talk logical common sense.  Donald Duke was not talking politics at all and at the end of it, I wished I had recorded our conversation because to me it felt like I just had an award-winning and compelling television interview that was not recorded on tape… J

So, where am I going with all this, I am hoping the leaders of thought, opinions and businesses from the Nigerian community in London will be at the Dinner and Interactive Session tonight with Donald Duke.  Let us, in style of Donald Duke rub minds, exchange ideas and come to an agreement or disagreement on the need to begin creating a groundswell for change in the country we all claim to love.

Anyway, its just a few hours away, Dinner will be served at 7.15 tonight and afterwards, it will be time to discuss the state of the nation, the problems and proffer solutions that we can all commit to.

Nuff said… J

African Cuisine and our Restaurants in London (Part 3) The 805 Restaurants Experience

I have a confession to make and its one that is so unlike me.  When I commit to something, its almost like a Lion sinking its teeth into a prey, the Lion is unlikely to let go of a prey until two things happen, one is the important sensing of the prey stop struggling because the battle is won by the Lion and the other is that taste of blood, fresh, warm and seeping into the Lions tongue.

There is a similarity to the way I approach commitment to a worthy cause and there is one that I confess today that I did not completely commit to and I am embarrassed to say I feel like I have not been able to put my heart into it the way I would normally, like a Lion, sink my teeth in, win the battle and taste the juice of success… J do I sound weird in my choice of comparison.J

OK, the real issue is that I was at 805 Restaurants last year with a few friends, including the awesomely talented and very famous Nigerian Footballer, Mathematical Segun Odegbami, Adetokunbo Adejumo and Kunle Awosusi.  We opted to have an evening discussing with Chief Segun Odegbami about his pet project, a Sports Academy, which is designed to identify and develop talents amongst African Youths.

Segun Odegbami has thrown his weight, talent, energy and money at this project and it happen to be something that resonated with my soul, so I was quite keen to not only just engage but commit to help.  That has not happened because of extraneous circumstances and I will write a blog about this some other time, so that’s my confession… phew, feeling better now that it’s off my chest… J

Well, that weighed heavily on my chest because I had a meal at 805 Restaurant on Old Kent Road and it reminded me of the previous visit with was with Chief Odegbami, Toks Adejumo and Kunle Awosusi.  I was so engrossed in the conversation and the project such that I do not have any memory of the meal we had on that occasion.

That also tells me something I feel is ominous, because when you go to a restaurant and your only memory is your conversation, inspite of the food consumed, it means the food could not have been particularly exceptional, possible even just bland.

The good news first, 805 is arguably one of the best African Restaurant in London, if not for anything else, at least I can not say anything other than positive about the ambience, the smartly dressed waiters, the feeling of being in an African Restaurant in South East London that in looks and environment will be at par pretty much any 3 to 4 Star restaurant in London.  I actually mean any, so I am not just referring to the African restaurants.

I spoke with a family of five, Daddy, Mummy, two older sons and their baby sister who must be either late teens or early twenties.  They praised 805 Restaurants and rated their experience as more than 4 stars, pretty much 5 Star, because the food was delicious, the ambience is great, the service for them was very good and the pricing was comparatively better than other restaurants that are of same standard, according to the head of this family, their Dad.

The Dad, within this family I spoke to at 805 Restaurant, said he has been to Mama Calabar, D’Eclipse and so on and the standard could not beat 805 Restaurant, yet the food pricing is less expensive.

I am hoping to visit Mama Calabar and other African restaurants being touted as really classy and very good.  But if, as you read this, you have been at similar quality restaurant, tell me your opinion.  Meanwhile, I am not sure of what to make of a single plate of Dodo with Omelette that cost £10 or single portion of marinated and spiced gizzards on the menu as Santana with a going rate of £14.  I had to chew over the thought of Moin Moin as a side dish that cost £5.50 or a single Corn on the Cob at £5.50.

My experience of 805 Restaurants this Saturday as I went in there to review it was like this.  I walked in with a friend and was asked by a smartly dressed waiter where I would like to seat.  I said anywhere, and she took me to a table that seats four but is arrange in a way that only two people can use it, which I reckon serves our purpose.

We waited exactly 10 minutes without any of the waiters paying us any attention before the lady brought the cute little menu.  There was no apologies for keeping us waiting for that long just to get the menu, but that was still meant to be better than the fact that she did not show again until I had to walk to the bar and ask for the Manager.  At this point we had been seated for 28-30minutes since walking in with no one to take orders.  I explained to the manager who apologized profusely and took the orders herself.

She did not ask which of her waiters had acted like a silly child, which means no action to be taken about that L The food came quickly and as I had been “nil by mouth” all day, I got stuck in quickly.  The Monika that I ordered was meant to be Tilapia £14, I got a Croaker £17 and it happen to be Hot rather than mild L  As I write now, the only tastes that linger is the hot pepper, because the season could not have gone into the fish, it tasted bland compared to the hot sauce coating.

In the final analysis, I can say I have very high hope for 805 Restaurant because of the reputation, and it did meet the expectation in terms of the ambience.  The quality of the food was said to be good by their clients I spoke with, but what I had did not win me over.  The service on this occasion left much to be desired and I felt the food pricing does not deliver value for money.  I would recommend it for those who are looking for what can be described as a nice mainstream-like African restaurant, but they would need to have the money to pay for that.  Deptford High Street, here I come in my next blog J

African Cuisine and our Restaurants in London Part 2 (The Squires Restaurant Experience)

The African food is a delight and our spices, whether hot or mild are truly special. I am now on a mission to identify the best places to eat African Food in London, I love eating out and I want to let my friends know without a shadow of doubt the place to catch the best ambience, fantastic service, money well-spent food, authentic African cuisine that surely reminds one of home, clean environment you are not going to worry about food poisoning and the place you feel like its home away from home.

I have had several meals at Squires Café and African Restaurant, it’s just opposite the popular MacDonald’s in Canning Town off Barking Road in London. They serve a variety of Nigerian food and only recently started serving breakfast too. You know the Yam with Fried Eggs or Fried sauce type, the Ogi and Moin Moin with Carnation milk and all that stuff, well, they do that and more. They are most popular for what is called ABULA, that is Amala with tomato sauce (Obe Ata), diced assorted meat, ewedu and Gbegiri (made from beans).

I opted to check out Squires last weekend for the purpose of this review. As stated earlier, I have been there several times, on one occasion with a good friend of mine Yemi Shodimu, a renowned broadcaster, Actor and currently Special Adviser to Ogun State Government. Please note that on all occasions I have paid for my meal and this review is completely independent.

The location of Squires Café and African Restaurant is good in that it is truly difficult to miss because there are several landmarks around it. Their ABULA, which I thoroughly enjoy on every occasion, gives one the authentic taste of home cooked meal from the western part of Nigeria.

They did well in ensuring the quantity of ewedu and gbegiri were spot-on so you get the flavor of both and when you mix both with the “pepper sauce or tomato sauce” as some would call it, the blend and taste is obviously classic. They serve this in a big china bowl with the sauces covering the Amala completely. What you see is the mouthwatering assorted diced meat, which includes, shaki (Tripe), ese-eran (cow-leg), beef and other meaty stuff, that with every spoonful you take, a piece of meat goes with it J

I had a taste of my friend’s Tuwo in Abula style and on this occasion it tasted a wee-bit like ground rice rather than cornmeal. The Squires’ Jollof Rice has a good balance of mild and hot. If you do not have the stomach for hot pepper you may be able to handle the fairly mild power that hits the back of your palate, so you are not likely to go watery-eyed or red-faced (in the case of our Caucasian brothers/sisters).

The food that my friends and I ate were quite good, but I spoke with another client who had just finished the breakfast at Squires Café and African Restaurant. The couple said they were not happy with their meal. The gentleman said the Yam and Egg was good but not much better than what his wife would cook, makes me wonder how good or bad his wife is J

Meanwhile the wife with a grim look on her face said she came just to enjoy the Ogi (Pap) and Moin Moin, but was disappointed by the fact that the Ogi was a bit on the cold side and too thick. Infact, her words were that it was more like Eko than the usual lighter Ogi she looked forward to. She also complained that the Moin Moin was not rich, as it only had tiny piece of Sardine and a bit of egg in it. Their experience was not great, but I must balance that with the fact that I have enjoyed all meals I had at Squires.

The service is good as I recalled the staff checking I was happy with our meal a couple of times and even offered extra meat because he heard me saying the quantity of their meat seem a bit less than previous times. The meals range from about £5 to £8 depending on what you are eating and the portion size is truly African. I could not finish my Abula and I think it may be a good idea to reduce the portion and the pricing to make it greater value for money.

The environment is quite clean and the staff clean up quickly after clients to ensure they maintain the tidy look. The have sky tv on and you can request a channel to watch, but the audio is not on so you have to make do with the text on screen to know what is being said while African music is on in the background.

I would rate it as a 3 Star because of the size and ambience, though the food and service will be more like 4 star. The only others are that African Restaurants have to work on is the presentation of food and Squires Restaurant does not stand out either. The presentation is just average. My rating is based on the fact that I am a fan of nouveau cuisine and would love to see African Restaurants aspire to presentation of food and creation of restaurant ambience that will enable them compete with any eatery anywhere in the world.

OK, next port of call, I am not sure yet, but will surely write another review shortly. I will at some point soon be looking at analysis that will highlight how African Cuisine could be presented to enable international community reckon with and appreciate what we have just as they now do the Indian Curry and Chinese/Japanese Cuisine.

Please comment below and suggest restaurants in London you would recommend I visit next. To be continued, Part 3 next… 

African Cuisine and our Restaurants in London (Part 1)

African Cuisine and our Restaurants in London (Part 1)

I had a brainwave, oops a friend who is in the Social Services told me a few years ago that brainwave has been tagged as politically incorrect in the UK because it’s associated with issues of mental state, so I should have said I had a “thought-shower”… so funny…

Anyway, my “thought-shower” was to do with the fact that I was doing a self-analysis.  I know l luuurve good food, I truly delight in delicious meals and for as long as I can remember, I have always considered cooking as being very therapeutic.

I will describe myself as passionate and exploratory cook that indulges in creating almost non-existent recipes, don’t be fooled though, because my recipes are based on combination of diverse cuisine and sometimes I come up with a touch of genius that enable me cook something that is divinely heavenly.  It’s not all the time though, and that is because I never remember to write down my recipe and the implication is that I more often than not do not remember how and what I did to cook up such delicacy.

I am also out and about quite a bit, so I end up eating out because meetings get boring when you just talk with no food.  How do you treat a friend that you don’t want to buy clothes or shoes for? What do you do for someone you want to pick their brains without taking them to a bar or pub as you know you do not drink anything with alcohol? These are my excuses for eating out and there are loads more. I can almost write a book on why I enjoy eating out.

However, I am not into fast-food, they just don’t sound right or taste good on my palate, not to mention the effect of junk food that I see everyday on the streets of London, especially with those who live on fast food and no exercise planned to burn the excess weight.

I am very adventurous with food so I am comfortable eating Mexican Fajita or Spanish Paella or Tortilla, I will be equally excited about eating Mediterranean seafood or salads with some of the interesting leaves.  My food does not have to be exotic so I can handle the variety of English or French, and will be fine with the sometimes bland cuisine of the Dutch as potatoes seem to be in every dish.  The frog delicacy is the one thing I am not too keen to try J

The one food that I know hits my palate and create a different kind of excitement is cooking from “Motherland”… umm umm umm… yum yum, the thought of it alone is making me hungry as I string these thoughts together, cooking up my ideas and chewing on the thoughts as they develop into words.  I luurve African Food and I am adventurous enough to taste all of them whenever I have the opportunity.

My trips to South Africa and places visited are remembered by the food and people, I can not forget the Biltong soup, Bobotie with some Chakalaka and a bit of yellow rice on the side and of course topped with sweet dumplings for dessert.  The memories’ got my face brightening up now… J

My first travel to East Africa was at the invitation of my good friend Salim Amin and I had little time to see much in Nairobi, Kenya, but in that time I can not deny the fact that the food was wonderful.  I tried the variety of Nyama Choma, had a good go at the Ugali (Cornmeal Porridge), I could never believe that plantain could be cooked in Coconut Milk, but Kenyans do it well, and inspite of the fact that I am teetotal, I still enjoyed a pint of Tusker mixed with lemonade to give me my favorite shandy… J

I am still waiting for my first opportunity to visit North of Africa so I can associate my experience of the people with their cooking in Marrakesh, Tunis, Cairo etc… That trip should come soon, hopefully sometime this year.  I missed a chance to visit Cairo and still kick myself when I realized I should have jumped instead of allowing other engagements stop me.

As a Nigerian, with the knowledge that we have 250 odd tribes with their own cuisine and recipes, we are a mini-Africa without doubt.  I have been fortunate to have traveled the length and breadth of the country.  I schooled in the North and did my NYSC there too, I grew up in the West and did some schooling there, and I am truly lucky to have been a national secretary of a student association that saw me traverse the South and East of Nigeria, visiting practically all the institutions of higher learning.

I have tasted a variety of the food around the country from Tuwo Cinkafa from the North, ate loads of Kuli Kuli and groundnuts that I used to believe gave me pimples, tried Edikaikong and while I was in Calabar, someone joked about the meat in it being 404 (I will not bother to translate that one) J, then there are other delicacies like Isi-Ewu (Goat Head), Pounded Yam with assorted meat, we even have designer rice with sauce in Lagos J

Having said all that, the African food is a delight and our spices, whether hot or mild are truly special.  I am now on a mission to identify the best places to eat African Food in London, I love eating out and I want to let my friends know without a shadow of doubt the place to catch the best ambience, fantastic service, money well-spent food, authentic African cuisine that surely reminds one of home, clean environment you are not going to worry about food poisoning and the place you feel like its home away from home.

My first restaurant to visit is Squires, it’s just opposite the popular MacDonald’s in Canning Town off Barking Road in London.  They serve a variety of Nigerian food and only recently started serving breakfast too.  You know the Yam with Fried Eggs or Fried sauce type, the Ogi and Moin Moin with Carnation milk and all that stuff, well, they do that and more.  They are most popular for what is called ABULA, that is Amala with tomato sauce, diced assorted meat, and Gbegiri (made from beans).

I am playing this like the Nollywood film so the rest of  this continues in Part 2… to be continued… J