Say Cheese!

Posted by on . 42 comments.

“Azuka you’re no longer taking care of your teeth,” my Mom told me one day when I said a smiley good morning to her and my Dad.

I was six. I had the whitest teeth you ever saw. I had the most winning smile. I loved to smile…

It therefore came as a surprise to me when my Mom told me I hadn’t been taking care of my most prized assets — my teeth. I loved to show them off like the man in the Flourish Toothpaste advert who got stuck somewhere and signaled an airplane by ‘shining’ his teeth.

What was wrong? I found out when I looked in the mirror. I’d just started to replace my milk teeth. The two new incisors at the bottom of my mouth weren’t white — they were a shocking yellow and the whiteness of the surrounding teeth made them look horribly dirty.

That was when I stopped smiling. That was when I stopped talking.

I got singled out every day in school during the morning assembly inspections for having ‘brown teeth.’ I had a teacher tell me to shut my ‘dirty mouth’ when we were reciting in class. Some of my friends and classmates made rude remarks.

I smiled less. I talked less.

When I’m asked today why I don’t talk much I say it’s because I grew up around books and didn’t mix much. That’s only half true. I read a lot, but I also made a lot of trouble and could be found on every ‘names of noisemakers’ list in school. When people ask why I hardly smile I dodge the question.

I used all the ‘remedies’ under the sun. I brushed with salt. I tried various toothpaste brands from Close-Up to Crest. I used ‘special’ toothbrushes — straight, curved, hard bristles, soft bristles, combinations… I chewed chewing stick until my jaw hurt. I used charcoal. I used white sand. I tried sandpaper once. The yellow remained, and all of my white milk teeth got replaced with yellow. I vowed to myself that someday when I grew up I’d go to America, get all my teeth knocked out, and replace them with shiny white porcelain teeth.

I smiled even less. I talked even less.

I began to watch the way I talked. I talk very softly because that keeps my lips close to each other. My social life was affected. I started to get attracted to girls. I knew I wasn’t bad-looking — heck, some of the girls even told me. My teeth held me back.

The good side of things was that I became a good listener and that helped me focus more on observing people and writing. I once wooed someone in high school by having her read my work. I never got into arguments because they involved a lot of talking. I focused on my reading and kept to myself because it ensured I didn’t have to talk. The bad side remains my uncommunicativeness and the perpetual frown on my face that scares everyone off.

When I was 14 my Mom took me to the Oxford Dental Care to see a dentist. I was filled with trepidation. I expected to get a reprimand for caring so little for my teeth. My Mom as usual made no bones about what she wanted.

“Doctor,” she said, “Could you take a look at my son’s teeth. He doesn’t brush well and he…”

Talk about being mortified. I decided to at least have a redeeming factor.

“I’ve got dental calculus,” I blurted out, interrupting her. That’s dentists’ lingo for tartar.

“Where did you hear that term?” the dentist was impressed.

“Oh,” I said nonchalantly. “I read my Dad’s medical encyclopedia.”

“He reads a lot,” my Mom said, ever the proud mom.

“Wonderful,” the dentist said and we went in for my examination.

When he was done he sat with me to discuss privately.

“You don’t have dental calculus,” he informed me.

Could it be far worse? Had I been deceiving myself that I had deposits on my teeth when I had some even worse condition?

“Relax young man,” the dentist told me. “There’s nothing wrong with your teeth. They just happen to be that color naturally — that’s why they’re even and no white shows through. There’s one problem though…”

“Which is?”

“I’d say you take too much care of your mouth.”

Now that was new. When did it become too much?

“You’re damaging your gums by brushing too hard. Nothing’s wrong with your teeth. Just be careful not to hurt your gum and palate — there’re a lot of abrasions on them,” he explained.

So that was it. The years of suffering an inferiority complex, the taunts, the insults, the canings from the teachers. They’d all been for nothing.

It’s been four years since then. I’m here but don’t think of knocking out and replacing all my teeth. I don’t use any particularly special toothpaste although I love Crest. I still don’t smile, as in grin, and I still am very much the recluse.

If you look at my pictures, you’ll discover there’s no dental display there. Guess the words that still strike fear into me till today?

“Say Cheese!”

The Family

Posted by on . 32 comments.

I’ve been getting calls to update. The culprits haven’t exactly used the word ‘update’ but I got the idea. Since I’m currently facing a bout of blogger’s block (there’re some interesting things going on but they’re too private to share) I’ll just put up one of my book ideas from the past. This is part of Chapter 1 from something I called The Family — something about internal family strife told from different perspectives. Dumb name, dumber story, so I dumped it.

Adegoke

Things were beginning to firm up between us, I thought as I squeezed Eka’s thigh under the table. She gave me one of those impish smiles and I smiled back.

“Yes dear?” I turned to my daughter who had been tugging at my sleeve.

“Daddy when are you going to pay our school fees?” she asked.

“Hasn’t your mom paid already?” I asked in reply.

“No,” her brother said, his mouth overflowing with food. “Our headmistress said we haven’t paid our school fees and that we should tell our parents to…”

“Alright that’s enough,” I cut in. “No talking with food in your mouth.”

I could feel my wife stiffen under the table although her face showed nothing above.

“We’ll pay before the end of the week,” I forced a smile. “Now hurry up and finish your food, and remember, no talking.”

This rule had been hard to enforce but my wife ensured she twisted the ears of any defaulter and that worked better than my bargaining. We ate in relative silence.

Dinner ended and the children rushed to the living room to begin their usual duel over the TV remote. Eka made to rise but my grip on her thigh stopped her.

“What did you do with the children’s school fees?” I asked quietly. She knew that tone so well, not daring to meet my gaze.

“I haven’t bought clothes in a long time,” she said hesitantly.

“We both work. I give you money for food, the children, rent and every other thing. You spend your money any way you want to,” I struggled to keep my voice from rising. “What kind of clothes do you spend eighty thousand naira on?”

She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

“What’s wrong?” I leaned forward. “Is the chair biting your yansh?”

She sat quietly, unable to reply.

“You can’t spend eighty thousand on just clothes,” I snarled. “Where’s the remainder?”

A tear rolled down her cheek, a prelude to a downpour. I lost my cool.

“Where is it?!” I thundered.

Startled, the twins stopped wrestling over the remote and watched us, rapt with the curiosity of six-year-olds.

“You’re going to cough it out — all of it,” I said harshly. “When you finish tidying up, I’ll be waiting for you.”

I got to my feet and stormed to my room, trying to appear oblivious to her as she dissolved into tears.

I lay face up on the bed, unconsciously counting the ceiling tiles as I wondered how I was going to handle this. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened but this was the first time I wasn’t going to pay.

The door opened slowly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the twins walk in, Sola urging on Segun from behind. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep as they inched towards me.

Someone — I think Sola — pulled on my moustache. I said ‘ouch!’ and sat up.

“Hey!” I held my arms out to them, wondering if their mother had sent them to me. They jumped into my lap and we shared a hug.

“Daddy..” Segun began and I stifled a frown. Perhaps I wasn’t wrong after all — Segun was his mother’s pet.

A shadow fell over us and I looked up. Eka was standing in the doorway. I tensed as she walked over and sat beside me, placing an arm around me. When she rubbed her breast subtly against my back I could tell she was aroused. I wondered how the night would play out.

We joked with the kids for a few minutes. While she put them to bed, I went to brush my teeth and take a shower.

I was hardly out of the bathroom than she was all over me…

When it was over, I looked down at her head resting on my chest, listening to her shallow breathing from the exhaustion of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

“I won’t do it again,” she said, like a little child.

“I know you won’t,” I replied, smiling to myself in the near darkness. “So when’re you going to get the money?”

“Please…” she began.

“No,” I interruped. “Get the money. That’s all I have to say.”

She was suddenly as cold as a fish. I watched her silhouetted against the dim light as she got off me and grabbed her wrapper.

“I’m sleeping in my room,” she said. I didn’t answer.

That was the beginning of the end of things between us.

Soppy, I know!

Madness

Posted by on . 37 comments.

‘Ewuo!’ someone in the taxi exclaimed.

I had my nose in a novel but I heard — and wished I hadn’t. I knew by instinct what was going on. I dreaded the spectacle but I tore my gaze from my book and looked up.

There were multiple sighs of ‘chai!’ and ‘ehyaa’ from the taxi driver and our fellow passengers.

“She’s so young. Her breasts are still standing,” my Mom said. “Poor girl.”

The ‘girl’ in question was a young woman in her early twenties. She was topless. Her arms were lifted above her head as in a dance. She had just a tight miniskirt on and was swinging her hips with complete abandon as she cat-walked on the sidewalk.

She was beautiful.

Traffic was at a standstill at Artillery Bus Stop, close to the infamous Rumuodara Junction with it’s after-work ‘go-slow.’ She couldn’t have chosen a better moment to appear. People stopped, turned to look at her and shook their heads sadly. For once, none of the men ogled her chest. A few women wept.

She had been normal half an hour before.

Madness.

I was still in primary school, eight years old and trying to be an adult, but in those moments I ceased trying to act grownup. Unconsciously, I grabbed my mother’s hand. If I weren’t negroid I’d have been death-pale. My heart raced with fear and I looked away.

Madness.

Traffic cleared and we moved away. My Mom turned to us.

“Did you see the madwoman?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “No…”

Madness.

From the extremely violent lunatic with the wild hair who directed traffic at Oilmill Junction to the ones who walked in a line while beating gongs, the only emotion I’ve ever felt towards the insane has been terror. I’ve never had nightmares in my life — except the ones with madmen [or women] in them.

The mere sight of them makes my skin crawl — even thinking about them does the same thing to me. Coming across one is more than sufficient to spoil my day. The terror is absolute and when I can, I avoid the location for weeks. The ones in movies give me nightmares for days afterwards — one of the reasons I dread Nigerian films.

Madness.

The paranoia extends into my other thoughts. For some reason I’m so scared of going insane that I do my own self-examination several times a week. Irrational, but it’s a habit that’s stayed with me from my wee young years. I look at things I’ve done and ask myself if ‘normal’ people would do the same thing. I’ve read my Mom’s psychology books since I was nine [she’s a teacher] and the only thing I’ve found out is that it’s called Agateophobia.

Madness.

The only consolation I have is that if I were insane I probably wouldn’t know.

Rub and Shine

Posted by on . 23 comments.

One would think I escaped all the ‘usual’ trouble I’d grown so used to in Nigeria — NEPA, especially — and since I came over, everything’s been as normal as you’d expect things to be.

I got out of bed this morning and rushed into the shower. I didn’t get any water when I turned it on. Alarmed that my suite mates had once again done ‘something’ to it, ie damaged it, I decided to go brush my teeth and wait until the handyman came around. I got a tiny trickle when I turned the faucet on.

I had some bottled water which I brushed with, then washed my face and hurried into my clothes. Urgghhhh.

Something reminded me of the time-honored tradition called ‘rub and shine’ in secondary school. On a cold harmattan day, some people [excluding yours truly, although he was guilty in junior class] would rinse their faces, hands and legs, or perform an ‘ablution’ before heading to class. Others who felt too lazy to do so but didn’t want to take a bath would just rub on some cream and look none the worse for it (cream meant petroleum jelly to most people, hence the tern ‘rub and shine’). The problem with this practice was that some people used ti as a substitute to taking a bath. Urggggh.

It was therefore annoying this morning that I had to rub-and-shine before sitting at my computer and typing this out.

The Mountain Whispers’ editorial board (our university magazine’s board of which I’m a member) is meeting in ten minutes. The dorms had better have the water flowing before then or Azuka will be sorely ticked off.

I can’t imagine I rub-and-shined (yes, that’s the past tense!)

Update: When I got back the water was running again. Before you ask, I’ve showered!

Names Amnesia

Posted by on . 44 comments.

I walked out of my Discrete Structures class today and while struggling to get into my coat, literally bumped into one of my former classmates.

She called me by name and said, ‘Hi!’

Oops, I’d forgotten never known her name! When someone’s all gushes and happy to see you for some reason, you’d better know their name.

She’s Chinese, and I kept thinking of any Chinese name I’d encountered in my Economics class in fall. I couldn’t come up with any.

While she asked about my major and we discussed our last semester’s Economics grades. She made a B, while yours truly who stayed at the very front of the class sleeping under the Prof’s gaze, made an A — in fact Dr Kunrod would stop by concernedly before every class and say, ‘Azuka, are you doing okay today?’ While she joked I should have been in International Business (her major) since I’d done so well in Economics, I kept racking my brain to see if I could find any Chinese name that had been mentioned in class, hoping all the while I wouldn’t have to use it there and then.

We said our goodbyes and I headed for the dorms. The first thing I did was log onto the CougarWeb (Mountain State’s student access web) and backtrack to last semester’s classes and course mates. I found her name, which was English, not Chinese — although her last name was.

This isn’t the first time I’m forgetting someone’s name, and every time I have to deal with it, I’m ashamed. I don’t know the names of my supervisors at the library, or of some of my fellow coworkers [even though we greet cordially], and neither do I know the names of some people I’ve met over time. It’s embarrassing to get stopped by someone who says, ‘Hey Azuka!’ and I struggle to remember the person’s name.

Am I really that absent-minded? I get introduced to some people and five minutes later, I keep myself from saying ‘Hey you!’ because I’ve forgotten their names. I say ‘Excuse me’ and everyone around me says, ‘He’s very polite.’ If only they knew…

Here’s another 2007 resolution — to remember the names and details of every person I get to know this year.

The good thing about today is I know that if I run into my friend tomorrow I can say, ‘Hello Jenny!’

2006 in Passing

Posted by on . 24 comments.

Academically

I haven’t really been doing any academic reading. I’ve also developed the extremely bad habit of sleeping through my classes. Somehow, I managed to keep up a 4.0 until last semester when I had a B in Communication. Anyone who knows me knows why — I don’t talk, and doing so in front of a crowd wasn’t very funny.

Spiritually

I’ve been doing some self-examination since I came over here. My idea of God was as some entity who was to be feared, to be groveled after, if only to escape the flames of ‘Hell’ and do some boring harp-playing and singing in ‘Heaven.’ I don’t think I want to go to that Heaven if it does exist and even if I do, I don’t want to go somewhere because I’m afraid. I’m not going into that here — this deserves a separate post.

Mentally

I think I’ve been able to think better on my feet as the year progressed. Analysis of any situation comes rather easily to me — I break even the most mundane things into blocks. I need to explore this part of me better.

Romantically

I’ve been able to plow through the year without declaring my intentions to any of my interests — the Nepalese who always had this mischievous smile and whispered in Nepalese to her friends whenever I was around, darting looks all the while, the Indonesian who’s practically unreadable but took me to task once because she hadn’t seen me in a long while, and finally the high school American student I took a class with in summer who told me my accent was cute and wanted to find out my age and if I had a girlfriend.

Do I have a confidence problem? Not exactly.

I think I’m a very complex individual — at least when I study other people. The only friends I’ve ever had have been those who understand that a lot of the time I need to be alone. I don’t want anyone nagging me that I haven’t called her twice in a day when I think once a week is just fine. I’m not exactly going to ignore, but if she wants me not to have any time for myself, then I’d rather keep to myself. Oh, and I’m not ready to sleep with anyone yet — that seems to be expected.

Physically

I’m taller and rounder than I was before I came over. Every time I send my mom one of my recent pictures she teases me that I shouldn’t be complaining about American food.

I’ve developed very quick reflexes and it’s becoming increasingly hard for the guys at the YMCA to read me when we play table tennis.

The Rest

So far, I’ve been emotionally stable. I think I control the temper tantrums I inherited from my Dad better than he does. On the other hand, I think I’m too emotionally stable. The look I like to call the ‘Azuka look’ stays on my face all the time — there’s hardly any difference between when I’m angry, sad, or extremely happy.

When it comes to conflicts, this year I’ve lived up to what works best for me – I walk away. I’ve come to be known as soft to a lot of people around me but I think it’s better than the alternative. You don’t ever want to see me letting my anger control me — I become a raging volcano, and I’ve been known to make people huger than me cower in fright :-P.

2007

2007 looks good so far. Finances dipped below the optimum level then came back up. I’m going to be more serious about impulsive purchases from Amazon, reading my books, and communicating with my family. Here’s to the slightly new Azuka.