That Time Jamie Oliver Made “Jollof Rice” #JollofGate

I never repost but this was too good. I personally am all for people doing their own version of things but when this issue came up in my house, I was a coward and joined in the cursing of poor Jamie Oliver. Jollof for ever!

Rant-y African't...

Yes, guys, it finally happened – they finally got their hands on Jollof rice!

Some context for those who don’t know what Jollof rice is: Jollof rice is one of the 7 wonders of Africa. The list goes: Nelson Mandela, Cape Town, Jollof Rice, Senegalese Twists, Lupita Nyong’o, Shea Butter, and P Square. People might disagree with this list (feel free to add your own list in the comments section. Don’t curtly state your disagreement and move on, ok? Don’t be rude), but the point is that Jollof rice is a BIG deal.(Horrible) songs have been written about Jollof rice. Case in point: this god-awful song by Fuse ODG:

Jollof rice has even caused  a diplomatic tension/Cold War of sorts between Nigeria and Ghana over who actually owns this dish (it actually originated in Senegal, but I’m sleep).

In Nigeria, Jollof rice is sacred. It is not just the…

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Unsolicited compliments

suit banter

    If you’re not already watching suits, What are you doing? Stop reading this and go watch it! So the above conversation, from suits, kind of summaries how I feel about compliments. They awaken my defensive side.
    Take for example, today when someone told me he liked my top and that I should get up from my chair and spin around. When I refused, I was criticized for not knowing how to take a compliment. I should explain: This occurred at work; he is not one of my girls, he is not Tim Gunn neither is he a friend. If I had to describe our relationship, the words “office acquaintance” seems appropriate. He is also married and by his standards, he meant no harm because he is ‘cool like that’ with all the girls at work. I did a survey. He is not even “lukewarm like that” with anyone.
    To his credit, my top was kind of awesome and I was wearing the hell out of it. I also want to say that I believe that it is nice to give and receive compliments. However, compliments from some Nigerians have a way of seeming insincere or maybe I just hate the whole compliment/reciprocate dance because I am extremely bad at it. In all honesty my attempts at flattery are often cringe worthy.


    So the other day I stumbled across a coworker and his son in the IT department. I was in need of a little tech assistance.

    Me: Who is this fine boy, are you sure he is your son? He is really good looking, unlike you.
    Coworker gives me WTF face and awkward silence.
    My brain catches up: You do realize that you just accused this man’s wife of cheating on him.
    Me struggling to rectify the situation: Are you sure you and your wife did not kidnap him.
    Brain: How is suggesting that he and his wife are ugly kidnappers any better than calling his wife a cheater? Why am I even here? Now do exactly as I say. Fake a phone call and exit office in 3, 2, 1. . . . . Now trick someone else into calling the IT guy for help and avoid him for the foreseeable future.

    (Good times)

    If sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, then flattery is the lowest form of persuasion. Therefore it is completely beneath me because I refuse to lie. To be clear, I tell the occasional necessary lie about uncompleted tasks being completed but I draw the line at saying something nice about a person’s looks, character or possession in order to boost their ego so that they feel encouraged to do their part of the work.
    Things also descend into chaos when I am expected to pay back a compliment.

    Unwritten office rule number 842: Compliments should be reciprocated, paying special attention to the person’s new (insert item) that their compliment was designed to draw your attention to.

    Ideally, in a reasonable world I would respond with:

    “Thank you, Oh my! Is that a new bag? It is absolutely beautiful.”

    before shoving off.

    But as shown above, my brain and I are not always simpatico. When faced with a compliment, things often begin with a drawn out “Yooooooooooou” on my end, as I begin to flail around helplessly. Before things get embarrassing ludicrous, I grab a colour, item of clothing, personal feature for dear life and run with it. Sometimes I succeed.

    Me: “Yoooooou really look good in pink.”

    Other times, not so much.

    Me: “Yoooooooou are standing in the doorway… people need to pass.”


    The moment anyone pays me a compliment, I hand them a pair of scissors and tell them to “cut the crap” and “cut to the chase”. I try and apply this to everyone, everywhere I go with a n above 70 per cent success rate.

    Market woman: sweet aunty, come do your hair
    Me: Too young to be your aunty.

    Bank Security: Mummy
    Me: I’m pretty sure I would have remembered carrying life for nine months.

    Weirdo on the street: Fine baby
    Me: I’m not fine, I’m beautiful and don’t we have to be the same species for me to be your baby.

    In all my years, such statements have never convinced me to get my hair done with said flatterer or manifested a tip for any security personnel.
    I make one exception and that is to the name ‘sister’ and only when used by people in my church. Church folk are like the heads of hydra, cut of one honorific, two grow in its place. Then you’re no longer sister so-and-so, you become aunty, saint, mama, chief Mrs, dame, priestess, bishop, Dr, reverend So-and-so when all you ever wanted was to be plain old so-and-so.
    So the next time you want something from me, ask. And if I refuse, offer me money or food. Note that these fine products will only buy my attention and not my compliance. If you want my agreement, be prepared to persuade me with logic.
    Good Day… and when in doubt watch suits.


2012: How is going to end?

    Happy New year twice over, (counting the Chinese New year) and welcome to the end. January is winding down and so far my resolution to blog more is not looking to good and so to save face here I am.
    Somewhere in the middle of the fuel subsidy debacle I started to think that maybe the Aztecs were onto something, when they called 2012 the end of the world. With that in mind all the things that needed doing started to seem needless.

    In the spirit of full disclosure, let me admit that the uprising gave me a little pleasure. On one hand yeah, Nigerian people with backbones, but that was just a secondary thought. First thought: Can you imagine all those smug American heroes walking around looking for a disaster to avert, only to be disappointed by the fact that they are in the wrong country. I blame Hollywood. Seriously, who else told us that some know-it-all, badass American would save us? Hello Indiana Jones/Sam Witwicky/Jason Bourne/Jack Bauer/Chuck Norris… all part of the Hollywood propaganda machine.

    I was also a bit disappointed to note that things were not leaning towards a zombie apocalypse (it’s a real thing) because that would mean all my planning would go to waste, but still it’s early days. Who knows maybe 2012 is lulling us into a false sense of security before springing the undead on us.
    If Hollywood had taught us anything it’s thatskynet will probably pass over Nigeria because of our general lack of internet access and yahoo-yahoo boys. We are also a no go for aliens. If you doubt me, please reference a film where destruction of any part of Africa occurs (No Kajola does not count as a film). Sure in Independence Day the aliens hover over the pyramids in Egypt but not much fighting or destruction actually occurs in Africa. Why? Because Nigerians eat aliens #OMgUberFacts!
    Anyway, throughout the one week of strike, I managed to go to work twice, forget about finding a honey to fulfill my valentine’s day gift needs and waste money on a huge arsenal of food (which is why I am now fat, which is totally against rule #1).

    When the dust settled it dawned on me that maybe the world had ended and this was hell. But NTA says it’s not and that’s all the proof anyone needs.