CONTENTMENT: a refresher course from my Indomie aboki.

I closed late at work, as usual, with stacks of customers’ complaints left unattended. This is another unfulfilled day in summary. Famished as I was, the only other thing that got my attention was the little boil forcing its way out of my eyelid. It was drizzly, so it wasn’t hard to decide what I was to have for dinner: hot aboki Indomie it is.

He was in the middle of a package when I got there. "Shall I go for a package too, or the total package", I thought.  The last time I went for a total package, I wasted a ton of it. I will rather settle for a bite I can chew. As I peeped to see how far along the sizzling pack on fire is, he caught my gaze and regarded me with a warm salutation “Oga welcome”. The smile was the only other smile I remembered after the few ones I gave when we just opened to customers earlier in the day. Wait, did I even smile at anyone today? Maybe the other day.  I have been gloomy at work of late, zobo-red eye worn around most of the time.

“Which one you want”, he interjected. “Gimme one medium-sized Indomie and two eggs”, I replied. “Tonight, I am not a man”, I thought, “neither am I as hungry to consume and contain the hungry man size package”. He smiled, got a cup and started the ritual.  He is always fun to watch, but not tonight. The smoke, stirred up by the soft weather was drifted everywhere and wouldn’t lemme enjoy how he does his thing. With a pack soaked up in hot water in a cup, he got another cup to mix the eggs and the sauce. While doing all this, he chatted me up about work, asking if it was good. The traditional “fine, thank you” came by reflex. This abokis can be nice sha! Then I remembered another of my bachelor servicing mama-puts. That one go just bone like say somebody die. She no dey even get change. This aboki is far better than mama Sunday, walahi.

Instant noodle is the name; it wasn’t long before I was served.  I paid.  He deserved a tip, but the penny-wise being dwelling inside me inclined me to collect my change. I was now set for where I packed my car. Then the thoughts came: what motivates him? What makes him and keeps him happy at this job? He seems to have it all. I went further to analyse how much interest he could have made on my package. Maybe 50 Naira or a little bit more, or less. If he is able to sell 10 of that, he could have made N500. 50 of that and he would have made N2500? I get tips fatter than this on a very good day! Now that’s crazy. How does he sustain his family? How much does he save? Does he even own a car? Does his hajia wear Brazilian hair? Strings of questions queued in my mind unanswered.

I concluded it is not about how much the money is, it is about been happy with what have, what you do at a point in time. It is not about driving the latest car, or using the latest technology. With time and chance, you can attain whatever you desire, but you gotta be content with what you have now! I mean, if some of us are asked to trade places with him, we’ll just nag ourselves into extinction or something close.  He may as well over-flex his muscles assuming he is a god, if endowed with that “riches you are not content with”. There is always someone who has it better and someone who has it worse. Some of my readers out there are already earning the armed-robber salary, so to say, and we are never contented. Don’t get me wrong, I am not clamouring for you to be complacent, or that you should not aspire for greater heights, but, hey, while you are doing that, something tells me you ought to live a healthy life. Be satisfied with what you’ve already got. A bird in hand, whether dead or alive, is worth more than ten thousands in the bush (except, of course, you own a poultry farm somewhere in the bush). Being content is a neurophysiological experience, whatever that means. *smiles*

Uncle Lao Tzu was at our place the other day and said “be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are.  When you realise there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.”  You don’t need more to be thankful, you just need to be more thankful. I have learnt a new lesson, and I will be applying it a long time. The meal, by the way, was good as always, you need to try it out sometimes too.

Great day awaits you!

You can engage me on twitter @bimbolanko

Black is beautiful? Like seriously?

When you think great black leaders, your mind quickly goes to the likes of Mandela, Obama. Some minds will go to other black folks who have done wonders for themselves and for our world.  You think of them and you are quickly reassured that black is beautiful.

Then times like this come and you just resolve that black is the perfect match for evil, fear, gloom and a proper representative of depression.  You wish you are not of this race, but you painfully accept that being black is irreversible.

I mean how can a grown man salivate at the mention of a nine-year-old's name?  He wants to marry her? for what? and then what? Wahala dey!

To imagine a man secretly running this kind of thing is nauseating enough. Now the black man wants to legalise it?  Legalise child abuse? Legalise her emotional and psychological abuse? Make her a bride on a short term basis, ruin her life and then dump her for another unlucky young catch? Bursts.

She should be a #ChildNotBride.  She deserves to be educated enough to choose. To be enhanced with all real life has to offer, and not to be humped by a man who has no shame. Petitions are being signed everywhere. Please sign if you can.

Remember the black race in your prayers, if you still pray.  We are losing it, and in an ugly manner too.