I am just recovering from a tiring, yet-fun filled weekend. My flight to London departed at 6:30 am on Saturday, so I needed to get some rest Friday night. Now did I? Of course not; I went to bed at 12:30 pm and woke up at 3:30am, angry and disoriented. I took a shower, packed my things into my backpack, and left the house hurriedly. I had checked out bus services to the airport on Friday, and saw that there was a stop right on College Street, a few blocks from my house, so I strolled on the still-dark streets, feeling elated. I was wearing my maxi-dress; something the weather in Dublin had not permitted me to do since I got here. On the contrary, England had been experiencing a heat wave (33 celsius, childs play in MD), so I would be able to wear my dress.

I waited and waited at the stop, checking my watch and getting more worried. I finally read the information at the stop, and saw that it was only a drop-off point; the pick-up point was another six blocks away! Panicking (it was 4:45am), I raced to the other stop, forgetting all lady-like sashaying and what not, lifting up my maxi dress to the side as I dashed down the street. I got there just in time to see the bus loading up luggage, and kind of staggered into the bus. From then on, it was a frantic waiting game to see whether I would miss my flight. I stood in line upon line, past check-in and security, to get to the gate JUST in time; the gates closed at 6:00am, and I got to the gate at 5:58am, tons of running involved. I really wished I had worn jeans!

But the trip was well worth it. I checked in at the Hilton (got a sweet deal through my dad), and made my way into Central London via "tube" to see my cousin at about 10:30am. I was veery excited; we hadn’t seen each other since I was 4 and she was 2, we’d simply been communicating via Facebook and awkward phone conversations when our parents would say: " Hold on for you cousin. Oya, talk to your cousin, now"….and there’d be the awkward laughter, and the random

"What grade/school are you in now? Oh wow, cool. Alright, gotta go".

I’m exaggerating; over the years we’ve grown closer than that; thank God for Facebook. Ne-ways, I met up with her at the Liverpool street station (Monopoly lovers, London would be a dream for you –I went by Regent, Piccadilly Circus street etc) and we gave each other bear hugs, leaning back to take each other in. I had explained to her that I wanted to do the whole touristy thing; I’ve lived in England and been to London countless times now, but have never toured the damn place, save for the one trip to Trafalgar Square many years ago.

It was a beautiful day, so we walked most of the way, and sometimes took the bus. There seemed to be a lot of roadblocks, messing up bus routes, so we had to disembark early a lot of times. But first, we went to her house to get a nice dose of rice and stew - I was crrrrrraaving pepper seriously….dunno how Europeans live with sandwiches only, I have resorted to putting banana peppers in all my sandwiches, yuck , but at least i got a little zing here and there  

Met my boy cousin in the house, all grown up and looking just like my uncle…We set out again and started off with the House of Parliament, then Westminster Abbey, 10 Downing Street (White House equivalent) and then made our way down to Trafalgar Square. [I tried to post pics up, but it didn’t let me, i’ll fiddle with the blog later to try to solve the problem]. I had fond memories of the Square and the pidgeons perching on my shoulder and eating the feed I’d bought. But now, as an adult, I probably would be sadly disillusioned, with different thoughts like "Get this damn RAT off my shoulder! I can-not afford to get bird flu right now!"

On our way to the Square, we kept seeing signs that said "4th of July Independence Day Parade", and eventually we go to a crowd lining either side of the streets, and the road closed off. I was elated; I was sad I was going to miss 4th of July fireworks and the usual barbecue deal, so how lucky was I that I had walked right into the parade!? My cuz and I perched ourselves behind the demarcation, eager in anticipation. The sounds of the parade drew closer, and the crowd started going crazy. Funny, I don’t see any American flags, I thought. Just some rainbow colored ones, and some other countries. Then the parade came right past me, and I saw…men dressed in Victorian-style drag?…whaa? And then another one…then men dressed in sexy firefighter uniforms…then men in underwear…and then it clicked. It was a gay parade

Then it all made sense. The guy in tight Capri pants with the man purse walking by, talking on the phone, the impeccably dressed men, the pierced and bald-headed women that had been walking past me for a couple of minutes, the hand holding…ahhh. We slipped away from the crowd and kept moving towards the Square. On our way, we saw another one of the signs posted, and then read that it said "Independence GAY parade"…I had never been to one, and it was quite…interesting to watch, but I had a mission and very few time left, so I kept moving…sadly, they’d taken over the Square, so no pigeons for me

The last leg of the trip….Buckingham Palace, some shopping (gotta check out whats in vogue, ya know?)and then a local fish and chip shop, all the while staging poses on my camera. Aside, I wonder why all Nigerians pose for pictures? I guess its in the culture, taking pictures were for rare occasions and were definitely staged. For your birthday, a hired photographer dragged you by the arm the entire day in front of potted plants and in front of the cake and positioned you for various shots. There was little variety; the two-hand clasped over each other, the one-hand-on-your-hip pose, the look-away-from-the-camera/demure pose, and the famous passport picture pose - God forbid you smiled for that one! lest the American/British embassy people take you as unserious and deny your visa. But anyway, I’m digressing again.

We ended up going back to my cousin’s house and hanging out there for a while with her mom and her friends, watching "Koko Mansion" - a Nigerian reality show with a HORRIBLE plot line - apparently the KOKOmaster D’banj ("Koko" is a slang term for "chicks, hoes"? - rap terminology) decided he wants to change the image of "Kokolettes" (even though his entire album is named after them) into a more dignified ladylike one, so he invites them into a mansion to do….absolutely nothing. They sit there all day, trying to get camera time by dancing in booty shorts or acting short Nolly-wood story lines, very badly too. None of them seem to be remotely educated, and a majority of them have huge tats and piercings. It seems to be a very bad version of "Charm School" but with no tasks…disaster. This seems to me to be a publicity stunt by D’banj’s PR person. It would have been great if they did it more like a "Rock of Love" show - like a trashy version of the Bachelor.

The good news is that BENTV, the channel that sponsors it, has other great African-themed shows, and there are at least two other African channels. London is more of a multicultural city, with about 50% of its population now non-Caucasian, so they cater to a lot of other cultures, especially Nigerian and British, them being at a higher percentage. It gave me a glimpse into what the US could be like in some years to come, when there is no longer a sizeable majority?? For a country highly preoccupied with race, it’s going to be interesting to see what happens when the dynamics change.

 I didn’t get back to the hotel until about 12:30am, and I was up by 4:30 am to catch my flight back to Dublin (yes, I was living life at the edge; times are hard, and that’s the cheapest deal I could get). It was another race to catch my flight, this one much more humiliating though. Coming into London, the security had seized my 4 oz facial wash and lotion, even though I had only about half an ounce of each in there. Fine, I gave it up without a struggle - I bought wipes in Boots in London. But, coming back to Dublin, the freakin’ security people took my cocoa butter- now to non-black people reading this, cocoa butter to black skin is like sunscreen to white skin on a hot day on the beach…slather it on cold days, or face the itchy and embarrassingly ashy consequences. Without thinking, I protested..loudly…"But sir…it’s not a gel or a liquid!" my voice getting annoyingly whiny.

He hadn’t even opened it to look, he just read the ounce amount. He gave me a quick, cold once over and replied in a rather loud, authoritative voice, pumping up his chest and baritone as he said, "Look ma’am, I can either search you for ten minutes, or you let me take this"…What??

That pissed me off…its one of my pet peeves, unnecessary displays of authority instead of admitting that one is wrong. And its always people that shouldn’t be talking that do this (i.e. the lady behind the McDonald’s counter/the library "food smuggler" checker/the train ticket checker).

I knew I was digging my grave, but couldn’t stop, so I kept insisting, "But its NOT a gel or a liquid"…I turned to the lady beside me, showing her the lotion to ask whether she saw it as a gel. Big mistake.He grabbed it from me, and confiscates it. I was BOILING inside at this point, but I knew I had to keep moving, because I was pressed for time. I stormed through the metal detectors, only to have the darn thing beep and ruin my dramatic exit. And then, as if on cue, a lady comes and vigorously pats me down like a criminal…finding nothing by hand, she tells me not to move (Wtf!?), and then grabs her metal detector machine and slides it all around me, as though by waving it numerous times, she will find the knife/gun/nail-file that she just KNOWS I have. She then pokes directly under my bosom, asking what I have under there. I smiled smugly and replied "Under wire push up bra. Its Victoria Secret". Do-dum-chhhh. I then walked away towards my gate, somewhat satisfied.

Ahh, so I just got done with my all important board meeting; I can finally relax. So for my internship, I’m working on a couple of things - in addition to the work assigned, I also have to provide a report of what I have done for my school as one of the requirements of my fellowship. I was out sick for three days, so I was busy last week working to make up for the work I’ve missed. I finished a major restatement act that I was working on pretty early (last Friday), so I figured I’d work on my report. The head of research here had mentioned that they’d be interested in a report of my study before I left, so I thought, great, I’ll have two whole weeks to work on that, no probs. I got an email yesterday right before I left work from the HOR,  sent out to all research personnel, that I would be giving my report tomorrow at the monthly board meeting, and they were looking forward to my "extensive knowledge" on the annotated code of Maryland ??!!!

Small beads of sweat started to form at the edge of my temples as I was reading the email. I had only started on Monday, the day before! And I really hadn’t learnt anything in school about Maryland law, mostly just federal law. But you know how it is, if you are in somewhere foreign, they assume you know everything about your hometown and country. So, I franctically gathered all the scattered papers of research I had found earlier, and headed home early. I worked from about 8pm straight until about 2 am; memorizing and making notes. The next day, at tea, my co-workers gave me sympathetic smiles and kept asking me If I’d gotten a good night’s rest. Ahh, ye feckers, does it look like I did? Don’t lie to me, now! We were all dreading the meeting; I’d been to the May one, and that may very well be the first time I’ve slept with my eyes open - it went on forever! I made the mistake of making eye contact with the HOR once, and he probably saw that as a response, and prolonged the meeting for another 20 minutes, making feeble jokes and geeky intellectual punchlines.

When I went into the conference room after tea, the President of the Commission, a former Supreme Court judge was there. She’d decided to sit in on the meeting today, excited to learn more about Maryland laws! No pressure. I’d never seen people so excited over Maryland, its one of more boring, smaller states in the US, most people can’t wait to leave. But apparently, our annotated code is to die for. Once again, Ireland is quite a small country, with a population of only about 4 million (MD alone is 5.9mill). Luckily enough, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut for the most part, nodding fervently, and interrupting occassionally with "Oh, I agree with you totally. The one subject rule also lends towards preventing politically motivated conjoinment of miscellaneous bills. A code would encourage self-help legislation and greater accessibility for the common citizen". They all seemed to like this, and nodded fervently, scribbling away on their legal pads. I did a mental "brushing off my shoulders" and smiled. Job done; and now I have free time to waste away in my last days at the Commission.

Back at the house, it feels a bit like a reality show still, in that every weekend or so, we lose someone, just as we were starting to bond as a family. Now I understand the crying at the end of those reality shows…before, I was like "what the heck, you’d only known each other 2 months. Jeez!" But it really is a bonding– I guess being thrown into a house together in a strange place makes you feel more attached to your housemates. We lost one of our larger-than-life characters (remember the long haired musician from my earlier post) a couple of days ago, and it was absolutely quiet on the dinner table. My roommate left today I’m going to miss having someone to talk to at the end of the day, but then again, I’m leaving in a few weeks anyways.She’s staying in Dub longterm, so she found an apartment for share close by. She’s having a housewarming this weekend, so some of us from the house are headed up there. I’m going to be helping her cook stuff- I’m excited! I miss cooking my own meals sooo much! The glamour of having a cook/maid is definitely gone; she’s a horrible cook; most of her stuff is bland chicken meals with peas and chips that she buys precooked, and sometimes, you just want to be able to choose what you want to eat, you know? The only thing she ok in is Indian foods, and hell, I make better biriyani than she does!

I’m back, after a bit of a sojourn. I’ve been so tired after work that I simple collapse after dinner, do some quiet reading, and wait for the next boring day to come. But my weekend was simply marvellous. On Saturday, I headed out to Galway, a town on the opposite end of the coast from Dublin. I met a Nigerian girl, B, on fb who lived in Galway, and she offered to explore the area with me. It had been highly recommended for visitation by the locals. So I took a 3hr bus filled with Japanese tourists at 6am from Dublin, and arrived at the bus station at about 10. I met up with B, and we decided to succumb to the call of the various tour hecklers at the station (it seriously felt like a market in Nig…tough times) and chose a 14 euro tour to the Cliffs of Moher (pictured above). It was another 3 hr drive up there. On the way, the scenery turned pretty rural, mostly castle ruins and cattle grazing the lush country side. We arrived at the Cliffs, made our way out of the bus, to find two rough looking guys collecting 1 euro "utility fees" in brown paper bags!!?? The lawyer in me screamed…and calmly asked them "What is this for? We weren’t told anything about utility fees…Can you make a receipt?" I was then told in a thick Romanian accent "Eees…for make payment to tourism….sweeping…make look beautiful…" Blehh…whatever, I know that’s how they make a living, so I part with my 1euro, and keep moving. It was a warm sunny day, but the cliffs at high elevation made it a cold, windy one for us. B and I made our way to the top, panting and sweating, but the view at the top was well worth it.

The next day, Howth, a sleepy fishing village off the west coast was my next destination. My roommate A and I went up there using the DART train (it cost 4.60euros). You come off the DART into what looks like a small port, not unlike Baltimore Harbor….EXCEPT, when you looked in the water, you saw..SEALS!!! Aww, cute baby ones and adult ones, waiting patiently to be fed. You could buy fish from the local fishermen and throw it in the water at them. We did that for a bit, and then made our way up to the cliffs (cliff walking is the tourist thing to do in Ireland, I suppose). But this one wasn’t all touristy with steps, you actually had to climb these rocky things right at the edge of the cliffs. Hmmm… the American in me said "Adventure! You’ll probably only do this once, what a view at the top", but the African in me screamed "Dain-jah! Ahhh, this is wheya yoo tuhn bak, my friend…" But my friend had already started her way up, so I gingerly followed behind her, muttering "Jesus, Jesus" in my head. It wasn’t that bad of a climb though as long as you didn’t look down. But I looked down, and I swear, seconds later, it started raining. Ahh, I thought. My life! My shoes! My haiir!  Time to go back…We took some quick pictures of triumph at the top, and started making our way back down. By the time we got down, we saw a cute dog wandering around, and then saw him jump onto the low wall that separated the road from the cliffs, and then jump down into the cliffs. My roommate, perpetual animal lover and gbeborun (read Nosy Natalie) screamed and ran over. When we peeked down, we saw him bounding down the shore. How the heck did he get there so fast? Then we saw some hidden steps leading to a stony shore and clear blue waters. Thats how he went! We dashed down the steps to "rescue him" (dunno why, he seemed fine), and then saw that he was playing with a ball. The water was sooo pretty, so we decided to head closer to the waters to take some pictures. Not so fast; the dog seemed to be guarding the water, his tail stopped wagging, head bent, crouched over…in attack mode. We moved back to shore, his tail started wagging, we moved closer to the water, he inched forward, crouching. Very odd. We started hop, skip, running back up to the road. The dog followed us with the ball, his tail wagging. He dropped the ball at our feet when we got back up to the road. Aww, maybe he just wanted us to play with him. I picked up the ball, thew it, and watched him fetch. A threw the ball again, and then we sneaked back to the steps. The dog stopped, looked over at us, and bounded to the gate of the steps, head bent, body crouching again. His tail stopped wagging, and he stared at us intently, moving when we moved. Schizophrenic, or life saver? We decided lifesaver and walked back towards the village.

Back at work, I had dinner with a coworker and his Brazilian wife who had been dying to meet me…she’d read about child slavery in Africa and wanted to discuss it with me. She was a delightful character, full of life and hand gestures common to people in African and Latin American countries, a sharp contrast from her cool and laid-back husband. They’d met in Brazil and he spoke fluent Portuguese. I have met many interracial couples here; it seems to be the norm and there is no stigma attached to it (FK, fancy a move, here?). In fact, I don’t know any couples who are both Irish. We bonded over Hispanic telenovelas we both grew up on (Los Ricos Tambien Iloran, Maria de Los Angeles, Mulheres d’Areia). Finally , someone else who uses their hands when they talk.

I’m currently blogging at work before I forget my sad tale of woe. So, last week before I got seriously sick, I was at "tea time" with the fellow researchers just listening in: I don’t really get their humor yet, and feel seriously shallow when they discuss things like penal law reform, tripanning, or a certain snooty sounding book written by some British author that they all seem to know. Its the American AND Nigerian in me - a lethal combination of I-dont-care-I’m-better-than-you-isms. I’ve worked in various places before, and I’m a freaking law student, but our conversations were never this witty. I watch them, envious, and know I’ll never be as smart as they are - I keep wanting to blurt out " Did anyone catch the last episode of Desperate Housewives?"

Don’t get me wrong, I can be deep. I get feel quite strongly about my world environment, and have deep rooted opinions on things like utilitarianism and alternative dispute resolution, but its that last thing I want to be discussing at work, when I just spent 4 hours researching legal stuff. But I digress.

Where was I? Yes, well I was sitting in the lunchroom next to a jolly (by that I mean chubby) young chap . He was quite charming, in a friend-I-will-never-date sort of way, and I understood his humor. Like me, he tried to steer the topic away to something light-hearted like murder (yay, thats my kind of guy) We joked back and forth, and called it a day. A couple of hours later, I got an email from someone I will call Highlights (why? because he has them, blond ones). Highlights asks me if I want to come out for drinks. I see the name, and immediately think it is Jolly old chap. Being my shallow self, I politely decline. No point in leading him on, right? Well, the next day I found out that the person whose name was in the email was actually Highlights, a cute nerd in the office (we only have 4 guys, and about 20 bitties). Aww…oohhh, I think I noticed him staring at me from accross the room.

Suddenly, I was interested and curious, in that middle school way when you find out who is crushing on you. He wasn’t that bad, I thought. And that’s how it started. I went from not knowing he existed to wanting to know everything about him. I kept hanging around the tea room, hoping to bump into him, hoping that I’d get him to ask again. Jai-sus, I didn’t even like that guy…what was so special about him? Unfortunately, I got sick, and was out of the office for a couple of days. Hanging out with some of the girls, I found out that he was crushing on half of the girls at work, and had put the same move on all the new girls. Dang, I thought I was special. I felt like I’d been dumped. Yikes, see where shallowness gets you, people!