Sugabelly 2.0

Tiger Woods doesn't owe me an apology

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 06:31:00 +0000

Really he doesn't.

I know I said I wasn't blogging but everywhere I turn, there's a tiger in the woods. What's a girl to do?

Long long ago (well considering my age, it actually was not too long ago), I came to the conclusion that:

"A man, given the perfect opportunity, will cheat.
A man given the opportunity, will probably cheat.
A man not given an opportunity, will sooner or later make one."

In other words, if you are romantically/emotionally/economically/sexually/etc involved with a man, and you are a woman, assume now that if he has not already cheated on you, then he is doing so as you read this, and if he just so happens to be where you can see him, then assume that he will do so in future.

I don't care how much you think he loves you. I don't care how much you love him. I don't care if the inside of your pussy is lined with gold. I don't care if your vagina is a horse shoe magnet and his dick is made of iron filings. I don't care that I am not married and have never been married and therefore have no idea what married life or married men are like. No, scratch that last part. I know all about married men. I know about married men that beckon to you with their crooked fingers from the tinted windows of their SUVs. I know about married men that for all intents and purposes act very unmarried in clubs. I know about married men that send their drivers and attaches to molest single girls minding their business with impunity and without shaking.

I live in Abuja, therefore I know all about married men. Take my word for it. I might be a romantically inept, disorganized, marginally spoiled, confused, unfocused, overly dramatic, brooding twenty year old, but believe me when I promise you that your husband, and most likely mine too will at some point in your marriage, stick his penis in a vagina that doesn't belong to you.... or me. .... (at which point I will bite down hard after offering him reconciliatory oral sex before kicking him out of our house and draining his bank account - but that's another story)

Yeah, so it turns out Mr. Tiger Woods has been sticking his golf balls in six different holes (excluding his wife's mind you).

Am we surprised? Fuck no.

Next Week

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 19:22:00 +0000

I have finals.

Specifically, I have SIX finals. As a Nigerian it is my duty to get all As, so I will not be posting anything further until after December 11.

History, Philosophy, Finance, Business, Statistics, Biology.

Who sent me?

Jimmanu

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 19:04:00 +0000

My happiness knows no bounds.

Last night, by sheer chance, I ate my most bestest favouritestestest food in the whole wide world.

Jimmanu.

If you think I'm crazy or you're just curious, Jimmanu is my special name for yam and palm oil.

Ji = Yam

Manu = Oil (specifically Palm Oil)

Therefore, Ji + Manu = Jimmanu.

Yes, with the first bite I was transported to heaven. It was perfect. Just a sprinkle of salt on the palm oil, the yam was boiled to perfection.

The only problem was that the yam was new yam and not old yam. Usually I require old yam, boiled perfectly, fuzzy on the outside and soft and crumbly on the inside yet firm and porous enough to absorb the palm oil.

Oh joy!!!!!

I promise, as soon as I can afford it, I will eat Jimmanu every day. In fact, once I have a family of my own it will be a REQUIREMENT for everyone in the house to eat Jimmanu at least once a day. Oh the happiness we shall have from the joys of Jimmanu!!! :D

And this is coming from a person whose attempt to fry eggs two nights ago ended in disaster.

Sketches

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 02:11:00 +0000

I know I know! I promised and this is so late, so please forgive me.

Here is my sketch for Bilili. It's a preliminary sketch and it's not even near complete, but I think this one shows a lot of detail for her hair. (and yes that is ALL her hair).

This is the initial sketch of Bilili. (Medium: Pencil)

I didn't want to show her breasts so I sketched down to the bottom of my sketchbook

Ears: Bilili has tunnel piercings. Igbo women do not normally have tunnel piercings (they have regular piercings) but Bilili is a larger than life character because of her job.

Everything about her has to draw attention and be exaggerated so where a regular woman would have a simple piercing, Bilili has tunnels.

Also, tunnel piercings ARE common among regular women among our direct neighbours on the Eastern side, the Bamum women in Cameroon, so it would classify as a foreign fashion borrowed from a neighbouring country.

The lizard like thing in her hair is supposed to be a Lizard Comb

You know those combs that we all have that come in loads of diff styles depending on whether it's from Naij or Senegal or Ghana.

Like so:

The horns of her hair are wrapped in wide strips of ankara/random fabric

There is a ring in either horn of her hair attached to a fabric cord attached to gold weights that go down her back to weigh her hair down just enough so that it stays in place even on windy days.

The things sticking out of her hair are hair pins.

The other things are Peacock feathers.

Yes Bilili likes drama.

The thing on her forehead is a traditional gold forehead ornament.

I just made her's smaller.

Like so:

Yay cultural and historical references!!

(Okay I know I stole this particular one from Baule women but they're CUTE!!)

This is a darkened version of my drawing.

I just wanted you to get a feel of what it would look like in an actual comic book (i.e. I'm trying to decide whether to make this a graphic novel because there's just so much more visual historic detail I can put into it as opposed to just writing)

The Ndebe script next to her reads "Bilili"

Medium: My friend's blue biro. (All my pens are BLACK)

This is a random drawing I did this evening on a friend's notebook.

It's supposed to be the kind of thing a teenaged girl might wear in the time period.

I drew her hair loose because I was too lazy to draw a proper Igbo hairstyle

I know her hands look hideous.

I'm very lazy with hands.

I must practice drawing hands.

I also didn't finish the design on her nabi out of laziness.

Nabi means wrapper.

Ignore the bra - I didn't want my friend to complain that I was drawing porn again.

Ignore the stick figures also - my friend drew them.

Oooh... Doujinshi

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:09:00 +0000

I apologise, I still haven't put up the drawing. Will do it today I promise. Meanwhile, I am TOTALLY EXCITED!!! Because: I discovered that somebody did an Inuyasha doujinshi featuring Kagome and the ever delectable Sesshomaru exclusively.

If you don't know, a Doujinshi is a self-published manga work that might be your own original creation or based on another mangaka (manga artist)'s creation (with proper copyright acknowledgement given of course).

I LOVE Doujinshi because it explores the characters in the anime in a way that the original storyline doesn't.

For example, take this one (one of my favourites). What you need to know is, Sesshomaru is a Demon Lord and Kagome is from 500 years in the future (our present time), so Kagome keeps on bringing a lot of things from the future that Sesshomaru has never seen before or doesn't understand how to use, so he often seizes stuff from her and forces her to explain - because he's a very curious, very intelligent, very scary, occasionally homicidal Demon Lord - yeah he's bad like that.

Click to enlarge and read (this one's in English) lol

The doujinshi I'm all excited about though is in Japanese, but TRUST ME you do not need to know how to read Japanese to understand what's going on here. ;D

It's very, very naughty, and seriously, if you know you shouldn't be looking at this then don't. NSFW (Not safe for work - but not distasteful either :D)

Basically, the dude with the stripes on his face and the moon on his forehead is Sesshomaru (Inuyasha's big brother who keeps trying to kill Inuyasha). The girl is Kagome (Inuyasha's best friend and sort of love interest who apparently is seeing his brother behind his back.) The massive flying firecat is Kirara, a flying cat demon.

Enjoy! I know I did :D (IMPORTANT: Japanese manga read from RIGHT to LEFT. The pages are in order - i.e. 1 - 39, but you must read the panels from right to left)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38 39

The Difference Between a Prostitute and a Courtesan

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 15:28:00 +0000

So I realised that I start waaay too many posts with the word "So".

Anyway, I haven't got round to replying some of the comments in the last three posts so I'll do that later on today.

Thanksgiving break is over (why?????? I was just getting started sleeping) and I am ashamed to say that I did not accomplish anything worth mentioning over the break. (well that is not entirely true. I cooked curry rice. :D - well technically it came in a box that said "add water and heat" - so maybe not). I did manage to do one drawing though. A drawing of Bilili (my Igbo courtesan :")

If you don't know who Bilili is, she's a character in the story I'm writing. So some people have expressed reservations about the plausibility of an Igbo courtesan so let me explain.

If there is one universal truth in this world, it is this:

Wherever there are men, particularly wherever there are wealthy, powerful men, there will always be groups of women that fuck them.

It's just the plain truth. It applies in ALL societies on Earth, in all time periods (well maybe except for Vatican City - but that's a special case). Do you really think there isn't some chick that's getting jiggy with King Saud of Saudi Arabia as I type this? As far as sexual relationships between men and women are concerned, there have always been groups that have endured throughout time:

Wives (these of course evolve from fiances or betrotheds, etc)
Lovers
Prostitutes (Streetwalkers)
Mistresses (Kept women)
Courtesans (Exclusive Upper class prostitutes to very wealthy and powerful clients with loadsa cash)

Always. No matter where you are. In the words of the dude that wrote Grips and Tonic, if it has a penis it likes fucking.

Good, now that that is out of the way, let me explain the social structure of 7th -9th century Igbo land.

Communities were divided into the following groups:

Villages, Towns, and Cities.

Villages are self-explanatory, just a bunch of people farming and doing mundane stuff.

Towns revolved around a particular industry and so were bigger. They typically developed most along the coast or the River Niger (the industry in question being fishing and transportation of goods for trade).

Cities are my particular favourite and here's why.

The cities developed because of and revolved around the courts. By court I mean royal court as in The Nri Court (which as you know is the seat of the entire Igbo nation and the birthplace of mankind :D).

Here's the basic principle. People tend to cluster most around those in power. So, whereas a village might be sparsely populated and highly uninteresting, key concentrations of power in Nri and Onicha were very densely populated because of the need to serve the court and the opportunity to rise to power.

For example, occupations in Nri and Onicha were highly differentiated compared to in other areas of Igbo land where every man was a farmer or a hunter or whatever. In Anambara, especially in these two areas, there was far more specification because of more emphasised social stratification. Basically, there was the Eze Nri, the dudes who served him, the dudes who served the dudes who served him, the people who provided them with different goods and services, the soldiers who fought in their armies and the rest of the people who did their damn best to ingratiate themselves to all these other people so that they could benefit financially and socially.

What has this got to do with Bilili and co? Well basically the premise of this whole thing is that you find the same basic people in different levels of society. And the strata of society they exist on determines how complicated or elaborate is what they do. Bilili is an Igbo courtesan making her an Akuna.

So, for instance, a man might be a simple subsistence farmer in a backwater village somewhere in Nnenasa, but another man with the same occupation (farming) would oversee a large and complex farm with many distribution channels to sell wholesale to market sellers and traders in Onicha. Same occupation, different levels of society, hence the difference. As this pertains to Bilili, it's simple: In the villages, people who want to be unfaithful to their wives have lovers because everybody knows everybody else. In the towns, there are streetwalkers. Simple prostitutes that are solicited by men to give blowjobs behind Okoro's house or whatever. But in the cities, it becomes far more complex. The streetwalkers are still there and they are accessible to everyone, but Bilili and co are the exclusive bunch. The ones that you can't just simply pay for. The ones who either deem you worthy or refuse to even notice you. And that's where all the fun is, which is why I'm writing about her, because she and her clients are far more interesting than the babe on her knees behind Okoro's house.

Now, let's outline some basic differences between Prostitutes and Courtesans (there are words in almost every language for these two groups of people - the French one just happens to be the most popular).

Prostitutes:

Provide sex for money - to anyone who can pay
Are generally disapproved of
Generally act individually
Are often harassed by law or authority figures or even just regular members of society

Courtesans:

Provide sex for money, clothes, housing, jewels, you name it - to only those of their choosing - who can pay
Are generally admired
Hone sexual services into a fine artform
Are well educated
Tend to have eccentric quirks
Tend to have highly ritualised habits
Are well versed in the arts
Live independent lives
Are often of high social status
Maintain a very glamourous and socially active lifestyle
Tend to have official backing
Where they exist in groups, tend to display high levels of strictly ranked organization
Exist and flourish only in close proximity with money and power
Are almost untouchable by law or authority figures and regular members of society

Isn't this fun? Unfortunately Westernization has reduced the fine art of the courtesan to mere prostitution these days but they still exist in a very limited degree today.

Something very interesting I've discovered doing research about courtesans from all corners of the globe is that no matter where there are from in the world, almost all courtesans seem to smoke.

It's very baffling. From African and Asian courtesans who smoke pipes to European courtesans who smoked cigars or cigarettes, almost all of them puffed on something. Does anyone have any idea why smoking was so widespread among pleasure women?

Also, they all seem to have mirrors, and these fabulous looking rooms, and luxuries that no one else seems to be able to get their hands on.

Another very interesting thing I noticed is that all courtesans seemed to have outrageous elaborate hair and clothes. I guess it's all part of the show and the fantasy world that they create, but it's so cool.

So yay to courtesans!! Anybody remember Jagua Nana? Yeah! So yay to Karuwanci, Ashawo, and Akuna everywhere!!! :D

Anyway, I did a drawing of Bilili and I'll put it up once I've scanned it. It's just the preliminary drawing and I'll probably adjust her a couple of times before I'm ready. I still don't know if I want to make this a graphic novel, but I am SORELY tempted to. It's just that the way the story is in my head, there's so much beauty in it I'm not sure I can describe it all in words. I'll put the sketch up later on today.

Awwwwwwwwwww!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 00:29:00 +0000

I just watched the latest episode of Inuyasha and in this one, Sesshomaru's mother (who is the Guardian to the Gate of Hell) called up a Hell Hound to eat Rin. She knew that she was sending her son to die in Hell but she didn't care. Of course Sessh followed the hound into Hell to save Rin even though he fronted and said that he was just going to kill the Hound.

After he killed the Hound he found out that he couldn't revive Rin, and then he JUST BROKE DOWN. It was so sad!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He even threw away his sword Tenseiga!! He was holding her close and it looked like he was crying!! Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, in the end when Sessh managed to come back from Hell, his mother brought her (Rin) back to life because he was pissed and so depressed. And when she woke up he (Sesshomaru) STROKED HER FACE and mussed her hair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was sooooooooooooooo sweet because Sessh NEVER touches anybody and if you touch him you DIE, but he held Rin and hugged her and everything and it was so TOUCHING!!!!!!!

It's so obvious how much he loves Rin, he just won't admit it out loud the big dummy. But I love that he loves her because he's the kind of youkai that you wouldn't ever expect to care about anybody but himself and here he is looking after a little girl and letting her put flowers in his hair and holding her while she sleeps and chasing away her nightmares.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cutenesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!

Aww, he's so sweet even though he tries so hard to be big bad and scary

I have a problem. I know.

For those who are confused: Sesshoumaru-sama is Inuyasha's older brother, an Inutaiyoukai (Great Dog Demon), and Lord of the Western Lands.

Rin is Sesshomaru's 7 or 8 year old human ward.

Sesshoumaru's Mother is just a wicked bitch.

Nuff said.

Bleach Nip Tuck Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 16:15:00 +0000

Hey everyone, so we saw the first video. Thank you Miss Fizzy for providing the link, and now here's the second video if you're interested in seeing the rest of the program.

A few words about this video before you watch it:

At 5:00, what the FUCK did that woman mean by her breasts look like African Tribal Breasts??? This stupid woman pulled out a picture of her saggy boobs and said that they look like African Tribal Breasts because those are the only people that she knows that have breasts like that.

Do you know what is so incredibly STUPID about this statement? Her statement implies that sagging breasts are a FUNDAMENTAL CHARACTERISTIC of any African woman (because hey, we all belong to one "tribe" or the other) and no other race has sagging breasts.

NO you DIPSHIT FUCKTARD!! Sagging breasts are caused by a simple formula. Breasts (usually large) - Support + Gravity = Sagging Boobs. Did you NOT do Integrated Science in school?!?!?!?! Is this woman kidding me??? Why the hell is she trying to blame her inability to wear a correctly sized bra on Africa? I am willing to bet my entire bank account that this olodo has never step foot on African soil, yet she seems so full of advanced knowledge about the breasts of African women.

Well how about I show you some pictures of "African Tribal Women" with their "African Tribal Breasts".

Observe our Nigerian, Ghanaian, and Camerounian sisters:

Um, yeah, I definitely see those "tribal breasts" she was talking about

But don't you all know that all African girls are born with long sagging breasts swinging down to their knees????

This is THE TRUEST thing I ever Heard

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 19:58:00 +0000

While we're on the topic of people internalizing racist attitudes and using them against themselves, let me just air something that has been threatening to drive me insane for the past month.

I am very much aware that Black people are NOT THE ONLY PEOPLE that go about effacing themselves in order to appear more white, or at least to appear in such a way that they do not offend white sensibilities. Pretty much EVERY OTHER RACE tries to alter themselves in some way in order to appear more white.

Note, I didn't say to appear white (because that is futile) I said to appear more white. Or White-ER.

Now, a lot of the time when I bring this up about Black people, I often get a lot of lame ass excuses that usually go something like this:

But Asians use bleaching cream too!!

So? So because Asians are giving themselves skin cancer in order to appear whiter you think that's a good idea? Oya follow them and jump into the fire.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. As most of you know, I have spent the better part of this term watching a Japanese anime called Inuyasha. After I finished the 167 episodes of the anime, I then watched all 4 Inuyasha movies, after which I then proceeded to read the manga (all 400 plus chapters of it), after which I then began to read Inuyasha fanfiction (fiction written by fans of the anime using the characters but not endorsed by the creator of Inuyasha, Rumiko Takahashi)

What has all this got to do with anything?

Let me explain. In Inuyasha, the second main character is a girl called Kagome.

It is very important for you to know and understand that Kagome is a JAPANESE girl. 100% Japanese. ALL her ancestors from the beginning of time have been 100% Japanese.

Why am I stressing this little detail?

Because Japanese people have Black or Dark Brown hair, and Brown or Dark Brown eyes.

This is Kagome:

Look at her well. Look at her eyes? Look.. Look... Are you done looking? Good.

As you can see, Kagome, any normal Japanese person, has BROWN EYES.

Now, can somebody tell me, why in 90% of all the fanfiction I read (and I have read far more than I will ever admit to my shrink) Kagome is written with BLUE eyes?????

From the little I understand about genetics, Blue eyes are not a Japanese trait but a CAUCASIAN one. And generally, while Blue eyes randomly shows up in other races as a very rare freak of nature, you have to have at least one blue-eyed Caucasian parent to have blue eyes, and in MOST CASES you must have TWO.

You have NO IDEA how infuriating this eye business is to me. It's like OVER AND OVER again, the people who write these fanfics feel that Kagome is not beautiful unless they change her eye colour.

The very first time I noticed it, I thought it was just a fluke, but now three months and well over four thousand fan fics later (most fan fics are relatively short) I'm beyond annoyed and disgusted. Easily, 9 out of 10 fan fics I read portray Kagome as having blue eyes, however, Sango, who is often portrayed as unattractive (except to Miroku) is always given her correct eye colour: brown. In the same way, in fanfics that pair Sesshomaru and Kagome, Rin (Sesshomaru's ward) is always given brown eyes because SesshKag writers view her as a threat to Kagome, who they always give blue eyes in these types of pairings.

Conversely, whenever the situation is reversed (i.e. whenever the pairing is Sesshomaru and Rin, with Kagome as the threat), Rin is given Blue eyes to show that she is more beautiful than Kagome who then allowed to have Brown eyes and promptly married off to Inuyasha or killed off by Sesshomaru, Naraku or Kikyo.

Basically, the situation with anime is very reflective of the sad reality of Asian people glorifying whites over themselves. No surprises there. Especially when Asians use creams like Fair and White, and White and Beautiful.

I mean, who hasn't seen that Indian advertisement. According to that ad, the reason she couldn't get a man wasn't because she had a horrible personality, or because the relationship wasn't working out, but because she was dark skinned. Wow, as if that's a sensible reason to dislike somebody.

This post is about Asian anime and how Asians use their anime to glorify white people and degrade themselves. The man in the following video is white, but fuck it, he speaks the truest thing I've ever heard.

*Only for when you have the time!*

*Only for when you have the time!*

Thanks Miss Fizzy for the link

I've always wondered...

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 04:52:00 +0000

Why would a man want a cheap knock off....

When he can have the original?

This one doesn't come off during sex. He can run his hands through it all he wants.

Because.It's. REAL.

Isn't it better to be an original of something different and be recognized and valued for the genuine article you are than to be the second-rate second-hand bad imitation of something you can never truly be?

So is this.

Reality Rules.

Will expantiate/explain..... LATER.

Note: This post was inspired by this forum post which I happened upon while looking up blonde dyes for a friend. Depending on how you read it, it's hilarious. But truth is often said in jest. Scratch that. Every word this person wrote is 100% true. Well I'm a bit offended about the African part, but still true. I think that while many people argue that what they do with their hair is a personal choice (and it IS a personal choice.... to a certain degree), remember that IMITATION is the best form of FLATTERY.

Whether you "personally choose" to wear a bright blonde weave with your coal black skin, or you "personally choose" to straighten your hair, or you "personally choose" to put a lace front weave on your four month old baby, remember that less than 0.1% of the women out there whose hair is NATURALLY in the form that you "personally choose" to force your own hair into are "personally choosing" to look like YOU.

For those who don't know, I believe "Becky" is an African American colloquialism that represents any random Caucasian woman.

Just like Mr. Sosa here made a "personal choice" to get blonde skin*

You know what Mr. Sosa?

Let me tell you a secret.

Secret: You're still a cheap knock-off of a White person. A defective, third-rate copy. And no, you will NEVER be as good as the original. You could have been an original Black person, but here you are a Tokunbo Oyinbo.

*Yes, I know, skin cannot be blonde. It was a pun.

Happy Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 17:29:00 +0000

Well I don't really know what day Thanksgiving is. Shame on me, I've been in America for two and a half years and I still can't make head or tail of the local customs. (Nor do I really want to - but shh that's my secret).

Anyway, I'm staying in school over thanksgiving so I'm spending the break sleeping, eating, writing and drawing. Oh yeah, and indulging in my current favourite activity (no, it is not masturbating wildly to photos of Sesshomaru - even though maybe I should take up that activity), hunting for more historical stuff.

This isn't really a post. This is more my lazy mind rambling. But yeah, I found something interesting.

You remember Starbucks' logo?

You know, this one up here?

Yeah, I thought so.

[Benin bronze figure]

Focus on the god(Olokun) in the middle.

[Yoruba ivory salt bowl (top part comes off)]

I insinuate nothing...............................kpehe kpehe

In Which The Law Will Reign Supreme

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 23:31:00 +0000

The Igbo tendency towards self-impedance and particularly self-delusion will never cease to amaze me. This of course does not mean that all Igbo people are like this or even that the majority of Igbo people are like this, but let me hold my tongue. (*side eye Igbo girl on Facebook that claims I'm a lesbian because I said that homosexuality existed in Igbo society for ages)

Anyways, I have become sick and tired of people (particularly and curiously mostly Igbo people) screaming at me to give them proof that their ancestors drank water using cups instead of with their hands so let me introduce you to a little regulation that we are going to abide by in all future historical discussions.

My great history professor at the beginning of the semester kindly informed all of us that the job of historians is to fill in the blanks of history using a framework of the relics of the past that we have been so fortunate to find, and through the liberal application of logical conjecture and speculation where necessary (even in the absence of concrete proof).

So, without further ado, here are the guidelines that we will be following every time we make an assumption about the past on this blog. Note, your assumption does NOT have to agree with mine or even resemble mine, but it MUST follow the law.

Sugabelly's Law of Historical Assumptions:

Most (>95%) human beings will act in such a manner that guarantees their own comfort, pleasure, satisfaction, safety, security, success, progress, dominance, and benefit, EXCEPT in the PRESENCE of limiting factors, be they environmental, internal, external, social, religious, cultural, physical, or spiritual (etc) or in the ABSENCE of conducive factors be they environmental, internal, external (etc).

So, there it is. I hope it covers everything, otherwise I shall have to revise it. That being said, what happens when you have two alternative assumptions that BOTH follow the Law?

In the event that you have two assumptions that BOTH follow the Law, then the assumption that is MORE TO THE BENEFIT of "Most Humans" is the correct one.

Application of the Law:

Sugabelly wants to assume that all Igbo people slept on mats (in the olden days :D)
Sugabelly must then ask herself: Are there any limiting factors to this assumption? (Answer = yes).
Limiting factor: Repeatedly sleeping on a mat on the floor is very, VERY painful and will result in all sorts of aches and discomfort.
Limiting factor: Poverty may prevent mat owners from procuring better sleeping equipment.
Now, are there any surrounding conducive factors that must be considered? (Answer = yes)
Present Conducive factor: Ready availability of cotton. (West Africa is the second largest producer of cotton after The United States - cotton [at least at the time] was/is also readily available all over Igbo land)
Present Conducive factor: All human societies display stratification along many different lines including economic and class lines (i.e. Not everybody is poor).
Present Conducive factor: Museum/Artefact evidence of Igbo wood beds with depressions to accommodate mattresses and place holders for pillows.
Absent Conducive Factor: Technology to make foam not yet available.
Based on the Limiting and Conducive factors, Sugabelly's original assumption is wrong and must be revised to account for the relevant factors.

Revised Assumption:

Poor Igbo people slept on mats laid on the floor while wealthier Igbos slept on soft cotton mattresses in raised wooden beds.

And that is how you use the Law. Yay!!

Update: This is a sort of indirect addendum to my comment response to Azazel. I was watching that Chinese Alive Fish thingy video and looking through the comments - most of them were about how it's unfair and so on and so forth, but then I saw this comment.

And do you know the really sad and infuriating thing??? Somebody ELSE has said this to me before. And I've heard it echoed from many different people from different backgrounds, and it seems to be the generally held opinion.

And that is why I get pissed off that EVEN AFRICANS refuse to believe that their forebearers could be intelligent and multi-faceted well-rounded thinking logical people. It's comments like this, and the fact that so many people believe this bullshit to be true that make me fucking mad.

That's why I'm mad as hell. Because it's OUR OWN ATTITUDES AND BELIEFS ABOUT OUR OWN PEOPLE that give idiots like this the audacity to say this kind of bullshit.

Because noone is willing to believe that 1000 -200 years ago, Africans were pretty much more or less on par with everyone else.

Nooooooooo............ the only GOOD, BELIEVABLE African is the African who sleeps on a dirt floor, digs in the ground for bugs to eat, is covered in dust because they haven't washed in months, has a distended stomach from kwarshiokor, walks about barefoot even though the ground is littered with sharp objects, sleeps in a tiny makeshift hovel....for years, has rotten teeth, doesn't know what the sum of 2 plus 2 is, and most certainly cannot think enough to hold a concrete idea or opinion about anything.

What makes me even madder is that I could deal with this shit if it was just people from other countries saying it (in spite of the fact that thieves like Maya Lake steal designs, inventions, ideas, etc from us and our cultures everyday) but when Africans themselves have bought into the whole "Africans are Inferior Mentally Backward Scum of the Earth that just Leech off Humanity and Contribute Nothing" then who the fuck are we supposed to turn to?

Don't you see that continuing to perpetuate these stupid ideas in the name of "lack of proof" makes us no better than African Americans that continue to refer to themselves as "niggers"?

I am not one of those people that goes around claiming that we are all descended from Kings and Queens. Fuck, African Americans have permanently ruined the phrase "African Queen" for me, but I do believe in acknowledging what was and in the event that we are unclear about what was, I do believe in applying logic to fill in the gaps. Yes, we had kings and queens and emperors even, but guess what? SO DID EVERYONE ELSE!!!! What the fuck is special about that? Why must something that EVERYONE ELSE takes for granted be a "special case" when it comes to Africans? Are we less human than everyone else? Are we less intelligent? Why does EVERYONE doubt our abilities in even the SIMPLEST of all things for Christ's sake? Haba!! E don do! I am fucking tired. It's like no matter what we do or what we say nobody wants us to just be normal human beings like everyone else. We are the only people that are constantly asked to prove our worth or to fight for the right to belong.

What I cannot and REFUSE to understand is why Africans of all people are determined to believe that their very near ancestors (remember we are talking anything pre-1900 here) were no better than animalistic brutes with even less brain power. I don't know about you but if you think that you are directly descended from an idiot that does not know that sleeping on a mat is painful and does not have the common sense to make something soft and comfortable to sleep on then I am sorry for you. I sha know that my own ancestors were not that stupid. Fuck it, if you're asking for proof that nobody dug up until a random white person showed up and dug it up then don't be surprised when the tales of the hunt only ever glorify the hunter. WE are the ones who should be telling the world our history not the other way around. I refuse to be schooled on my country and my culture by foreigners who don't know shit about us. Face it, even to this day the rest of the world still knows little to nothing about Africa much less Igbos.

I need to fucking sleep. Where's my period??? You're late. Again.

The Heart of Man...

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 23:08:00 +0000

I'm not usually one of those animal rights people. And before anything else is said, I'm a happy omnivore - i.e. I'm a herbivore AND a carnivore.

Also, it is most unfortunate that I have previously done a disparaging post about goings on in China but this disgusted me no end.

This is not an indictment of Chinese people as a people, but it IS an indictment of the people in this video ..... who just so happen to be Chinese.

It is a blessing that we humans are for the most part at the top of the food chain and we have the freedom to pick and choose what we will or will not eat and when or how, but I believe that as humans we MUST respect the creatures that give up their lives so that WE may live. It is a basic requirement for living on this Earth - respect the fucking life.

As far as I'm concerned the people in the following video are heartless and have no respect whatsoever for life. There is nothing funny about the following video and every time I watch it I want to box that stupid woman that is laughing in the video.

The vid is basically a clip and once you watch it you'll know what I'm upset about but something important you need to know is that this did not happen by accident. Apparently, the people that own the restaurant or whatever (this is happening in China btw) have developed and perfected the method of cooking that enabled the situation in the video.

It's beyond cruel. It really is and it reeks of inhumanity, barbarism, and taking the gift of life for granted. It's bad enough that we have to kill to eat, and I make no apologies about eating meat, but for the fact that you have been so fortunate to be born in the position of power in the food chain, have the fucking decency and common sense to bestow a quick and honorable death on the creature that you have chosen to eat.

Decency dictates it. Compassion dictates it. Your fucking conscience dictates it.

This is a bloody fail.

Update: This video clearly demonstrates how this method of cooking works. (watch for the second event)

Update: About a month and a half ago I went out with my Japanese friend and had what I believed at the time to be sushi. I now understand that what I had was Sashimi, and from what little Googling I've done, it appears that Sashimi is sliced from the fish while the fish is alive. This is something that is undoubtedly cruel, and if I had known I would never have touched it, much less even ordered it or agreed to go.

If fishes have souls or spirits, then I pray that the soul of the fish that I ate and that I indirectly caused to be subjected to such torture forgives me. I feel horribly guilty. There is no shame in eating other animals to stay alive, but no animal should ever have to endure being eaten alive when there was a more humane option (this of course excludes what goes on in the wild as decreed by nature).

We do not hold the title 'Human Beings' for nothing. It's about time we started acting like it.

Waiting for the Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 14:53:00 +0000

This, like every week before it, has been a rather lazy week for me. I honestly think that laziness is my biggest vice and should I overcome it, everything will be gravy.

I'm very pleased with myself. I wrote more this week than I've written in the past year which is definitely something. I think the best part is that I'm beginning to get a feel for my characters and getting to know them. It's really weird. It's like meeting someone for the first time and then discovering all sorts of things about them.

BTW - I'm sad that on Myne Whitman's blog my vote didn't win. The name is now Iphey. :( *weeps*

Yeah, so I haven't really done anything worth mentioning this week. About the writing though, I will mention that because I have been debating whether or not to make this a graphic novel, I have been drawing my characters as I write. Drawing them helps me to visualize them as real people and makes it easier to write about them. I might post some of the drawings here later on.

As far as pros and cons go, here's what I feel.

A graphic novel would tell such a compelling visual story. It would transmit the story completely as I envision it, while a regular novel would leave it open to interpretation. What do you think?

My drawing is pretty shoddy since I'm totally out of practice so I'm going to have to brush up on sketching before I even start doing any serious panels.

Either way, here's a paragraph or two that sort of introduces the next main character, Faza.

They came through the palace walls, they floated in the air over the grounds, permeated the windows of his room, waking him to bathe, dressing him, and serving him breakfast in the morning. They supervised his training with the ateta, the agada, the obo, and the ota. They called him to attention when he strayed from his studies, distracted by some new fancy or the other. For as long as he had been able to make sense of what he was hearing, he had heard the whispers. Ever since he could understand, though his father had forbidden it, not wanting his son to live in fear, he had known. And when his mother had died giving birth to his brother, the tension in the palace had been near palpable.

As each milestone came and went, first birthday, fifth birthday, first fight, first hunt, circumcision, he had felt them all holding their breath like they had done for him as his brother did what all hoped for but none dared to speak out loud, survive. And he had not merely survived. No, the boy had thrived, bubbling with energy and brimming with a zest for life that was unheard of in his reserved elder sibling. Now, initiation had come and he could hear their collective sigh of relief. His brother had made it. He had survived to his initiation into the formidable leopard cult without incident and broken the cycle. His confirmation and his victory was his brother’s bittersweet secret. His initiation marked his freedom from the burden that Faza was now certain to bear alone. Ozugo, now renamed Agaba, would never be what his brother was, an ogbanje.

Important Background Information:

Ogbanje: Igbo spirit that continuously reincarnates at will in a never-ending cycle of birth and death, usually to the same mother as many different children that continue to die. This isn't just confined to Igbo mythology. There are names for the ogbanje in almost every West African tradition. (e.g. Abiku in Yoruba).

Faza: Igbo name that I made up. Because Faza is an ogbanje, that means that many children have come before him and died. Faza means "They Answered" (They - being the Alusi). Known Ogbanje children are not given proper names until they have passed a certain stage in life. Faza did and so his name reflects the gratitude that he has survived this far.

Ozugo: Igbo name that I made up. You don't really find Igbo people named Ozugo because Ozugo means "It's Enough". You're more likely to find Ezugo than Ozugo as far as names go. Faza's younger brother Ozugo is so named as a plea for the ogbanje cycle to end. It embodies everyone's frustration with the situation, and since their mother dies in childbirth, it represents the final assurance that it's over.

Agaba: Ozugo is renamed Agaba (meaning Lion) when he passes his initiation into the leopard cult. Because there can only be one ogbanje in a family at any given time, when Ozugo is born and he is discovered to be male like Faza, everyone is holding their breath waiting to see which one will turn out to be the Ogbanje. Because the Ogbanje reincarnates as the same gender each time, there cannot be two children of the same gender in one family if one of the children is an ogbanje. If the first child is normal and an ogbanje of the same gender is born after it, the ogbanje will promptly die at the first available opportunity. However, if the first child is suspected to be (and actually is) the ogbanje and a normal child of the same gender is born after it, the ogbanje will continue to live until it decides on a death that suits its fancy, but the continued existence of the second child after a certain stage (usually leopard initiations or marriage) will confirm the second child to be normal, and by default confirm the first child to be the ogbanje in hiding.

Ateta: I explained this in the other excerpt. It's a halberd.

Agada: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a sword with a bent tip or head used for one on one close combat.

Obo: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a spear with a lozenge tip. Used for medium range distance attacks.

Ota: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a long war bow (as in bow and arrows). The hunting variation is also called Ota but if a warrior or prince (like Faza) ever talks about an Ota, know it's the war version.

Sorry but it's hard to type in the tone markings here so I just left them out.

Another Excerpt (NSFW)

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 20:20:00 +0000

I have slightly updated the story so please scroll to the end of the story and continue reading from there.

So thank you everyone for the reviews and the advice with the writing!! Under your encouragement, things are coming along nicely. Yay!!

Below is another excerpt from the story I am writing. This bit does NOT directly follow the other two that I posted and honestly I have not decided which chapter this will fall into, so don't worry about that.

This chapter is a little different (it's not even legitimately a chapter) because it's about a different character from the ones in the other two. This excerpt is about my absolute favourite character, Bilili, who is a breathtakingly beautiful, incredibly talented but very dangerous upper class Akuna (courtesan) in the city of Nri. She's one of the main characters, but she is not the main-main character. Either way, I don't care, I love her. I don't want to give too much of Bilili's backstory away as she is the most fascinating character (at least to me), but this little excerpt is about a very important relationship that pretty much changes her life. (well it doesn't get that far but I'm talking too much already)

Anyway, like always, please tell me what you think. Again, these are the first drafts, many things will most likely change, I'm happy to explain anything that might seem odd or that is unclear.

Bilili rolled over and kissed Tunji’s shoulder. The musk of their lovemaking still hung in the air, made even heavier by the thick curtains that hung from the stand around the bed, which filtered through enough light to see by but still managed to enclose them in their own little world.

“So you’re awake?” He reached around and half-pulled her into his lap kissing her forehead as she giggled and leaned into him, running her fingers over his hard abdominal muscles. Leaning over her, he resumed his previous activity. Noticing that Tunji wasn’t paying attention to her, and though she tried her best to remain aloof and uninterested, she craned her neck around to peer at what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” She asked, watching as his hand directed the brush, gracefully curving and swooping up and down the tightly stretched fabric.

“Writing your name.”

-“My name?” This time she turned herself fully and propped her head up on one elbow to see.

“Mmm…. Bilili.” He breathed, finishing off his letters with a flourish. Bilili studied the black letters that stood out against the white fabric of the cloth scroll. "It’s beautiful…” she whispered, touching the edge of the scroll gently with one finger. Turning back to him she gazed into his onyx eyes as he fell into her chocolate ones.

“You speak Igbo so well…” she murmured, bringing her lips almost to his as she heard his breath quicken. “… and your calligraphy is so elegant. The speech is common, but tell me… where did you learn to write it?”

Tunji leaned forward to steal a quick but deep kiss from her lips before answering.

-“Father is a diplomat. It is his duty to go between the Ooni and the kings of your people. I am his son. One day I may be expected to follow his path. He made sure I was taught.”

At this Bilili fell silent, preferring the sight of her lover over words. A twinge of sadness coursed through her. Her parents had not been wealthy enough or prominent enough to see to it that she was taught how to write. They had been comfortable and she had received all the instruction that was customary for a young girl of no particular status but then everything had been torn away.

She shut her eyes and mentally shook her head. That was in the past, long in the past. She had done very well for herself and anything she had lacked as a child had been more than compensated for now. But still… all of that paled in comparison to the secrets bound by brushstrokes in ink. Riches were fairly easy to come by if you used your head and had a bit of luck, but writing… that was the mark of a true aristocrat.

Smiling softly, Bilili straddled Tunji pleased to find him already hard. Slowly she ground against him and he let out a soft groan, dropping the brush and gripping her hips with both hands. He kissed her hard, his tongue pressing against her soft, pillowy lips, demanding that she open to him. She let him in enjoying the feeling of his tongue in her mouth and hers in his.

He responded to her touch, his hands moving to grip her plump, soft bottom and pulling her even closer to him. She broke the kiss and looked at him teasingly before lowering her head to lick his neck slowly, her tongue dragging over his adam’s apple as it went from the hollow behind his collar to his chin. Next she nuzzled his chest, using her teeth to tease his nipples. A low groan escaped from Tunji’s lips and his head lolled back as she continued her descent towards his aching, throbbing cock.

Nudging him so he lay back and propped himself up on his elbows, she slid off the bed to kneel on the floor. His breath hitched when she wrapped her fingers around him and when she slid the head into her mouth, it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her head and thrusting repeatedly into her mouth. Bilili ran her slender fingers up and down his penis, taking care not to hurt his sensitive member with her long, pointy fingernails. She sucked and licked alternatively, and then tugged lightly on his heavy testes before slipping them into her mouth making Tunji’s eyes roll back in ecstacy.

Soon, Bilili felt the tell tale knot in his stomach as his muscles tightened as her hand ghosted over his abdomen.

“Bi…li…li…” He groaned, saying her name as reverently as a prayer. He was half mad with pleasure and nearing his climax. Feeling the familiar wave of pleasure wash over him, his fingers knotted in her hair, and he gave one last thrust before spending his lust in her mouth. When he had finally come down from the cloud he had been riding, he opened his eyes. She was lying next to him now, snuggled in the crook of his arm, tracing indecipherable patterns on his chest with her long, black nails.

Alusi, she was beautiful. Her arm was the colour of rich, fertile earth, illuminated with bronze overtones. Her limbs were long and graceful, and her breasts pert, round, and firm. Smiling at the thought, he reached over and squeezed one of her breasts possessively, rubbing his thumb roughly over her dark brown nipple. The sound she made when he touched her pleased him, and he began to feel the first stirrings of the heat that was now pooling in his groin. Her hair was thick and wildly coily and very, very, long, reaching down to brush the top of her rump seductively, even with its curls.

Usually it was pulled or plaited into any number of complex hairstyles, but when she was with him she let it hang loose, spreading out like a lion's mane then cascading down her shoulders and back in black kinks and ringlets. How he loved to touch it! He sank his fingers into it and marveled at the way it resisted him yet swallowed them up. Her hair was incredibly soft, and puffy to his touch, which always surprised him slightly. His Bilili could be hard as iron, cold as the harmattan wind, unforgiving as Anyanwu himself, and when she was annoyed, her tongue cut sharper than the double edged ateta, but her hair… he mused to himself… her glorious hair was as soft as the newly picked cotton that the weaving women wove into akwete.

He didn't keep track of how long they lay there. However long it was, he had riches enough to pay, and upon his return to the palace, one of his servants would be sent over to settle the accounts. He would however, before he left, sneak a few bags of cowries into her jewelry chest which sat half-open in one corner of the room. She hated taking money from him; to her, her time with him wasn't work but he plied her with it anyway, urging her to buy pretty nabi and tunics and combs for her hair like her wardrobe wasn't full to bursting already. When he thought she was asleep, he got out of bed, retrieved four ivory bracelets from his bag and placed them on her table. Climbing back in, he pressed a kiss to her hair and pulled her close to cuddle.

If there is happiness anywhere in the world, he thought to himself, this is it.

Important Background Information:

Anyanwu: Igbo sun God. Ruler of the sun, God of good fortune and war.

Alusi: Refers to ALL the Igbo Gods and Goddesses except Chukwu (The High God). Also refers to any individual God. Used as an exclamation in this instance.

Akuna: Prostitute. In the time in which the story is set, prostitution, like all other things, is an elaborate affair that involves music, arts, entertainment, dancing, conversation, companionship, and finally, sex. Prostitutes were highly organized with a very strict ranking system corresponding to the social classes of the time with one Akuna per "house" at the top and proteges, regular prostitutes, servants, etc beneath her. The Akuna and her acolytes did not extend their services to regular men. You had to be the cream of society to get into their panties... or should I say.. ogodo (traditional Igbo underwear). In the above excerpt, Bilili is angling to become the protege of the current Akuna and eventually take over the title.

Update: (This is just to specify - Thanks Myne Whitman for pointing this out): This kind of organized prostitution on such a high level only existed in two key cities of Igbo land, namely Nri and Onicha (popularly known as Onitsha) because they were huge cities, strongholds of Igbo political power and cultural hegemony, and the seat of the Nri Empire in the 9th century. In other words, in 9th century Igboland, Nri and Onicha were the places to be.

Writing: At the time, writing was restricted to royalty, the extreme upper classes (those who had some sort of connection to royalty or worked for the court) and the secret societies (who were the ones that developed the writing system anyway). The only other people who were able to write were the Akuna who serviced the highest classes of society because they too were extremely wealthy and very well connected. Writing was carried out with a brush and ink on fabric which was stretched very tightly over a wooden frame. Brushes were made from wood and brush fibres were made from hairs picked from animals. The only thing I am changing here that would be historically inaccurate is that in my story there will be TWO writing systems instead of one. (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist). In my story, Nsibidi will be the code writing of the secret societies exclusively and Ndebe (yay!!!!!!!!!!! Shameless Plug *_*) will be the general writing that the upper classes use. However, all royalty and court denizens will be literate in BOTH Nsibidi and Ndebe. :D - Don't flame me too much for this one, I really couldn't resist. Besides, Bilili's name looks so beautiful in Ndebe. :D

Nri: Nri is the most important city in Igbo history and culture. According to Igbo cosmology and theology, Nri is the centre of the Earth and where the first humans were set down on Earth by Chukwu. Until its fall, Nri was also the centre of the Igbo empire and home of the Nri royal family which presided over all the lesser kings of Igbo land. After its fall, the Igbo monarchies sort of disintegrated and Igbos transitioned into the council of elders-based form of democracy that the British encountered when they came to colonize us. The Nri royal family remains to this day but they have no power and I'm not even sure if they are that wealthy anymore.

Ateta: The ateta is an Igbo weapon. It is a long handled, double-edged fighting halberd used for one-on-one medium range combat.

Bilili: Bilili's name symbolises the determination to live or the will to survive. Like most of the main characters, I made up her name because I wanted characters with unique Igbo names that also suited their personalities. Bilili's name is a composite formed from the Igbo verb Ibi - to live and the Igbo verb suffix "Lili" which in conjunction with a verb translates to "Must". So translating literally her name means "Must Live". I gave her this name because she goes through a lot of horrible stuff in her life but comes out fighting like a champ. :D

Tunji: I'm not Yoruba so I don't really know what Tunji means (Any Yoruba peeps want to help me out?). Tunji is Bilili's lover and the son of an ambassador of the Ooni of Ife. His father works with the lesser kings of the time and the Nri Emperor (known as The King of Nri or the Eze Nri ) to maintain peace between the two nations. For that reason, Tunji and his father are often in Nri where Bilili lives and works.

Author's Note: I personally HATE using the words "cock", "member" or "organ" to describe penises, but until I think up some other euphemism for the Happy Happy Joystick, please bear with me. Also this bit is not supposed to be sex-sex, I don't know. I don't really know if I want it to be erotic or if I just want it to demonstrate the fact that they are sleeping together and his thoughts about her. We'll see. I just realised something though. I felt uncomfortable writing this sex scene and I really, really held back because somehow it felt like I was writing a scene between Bakura and me and I didn't want to write something that might seem like it was about us and put it out there. Maybe I'll just rewrite the whole sex part and draw more from my relationship with him when I'm feeling less shy.

So....

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 03:41:00 +0000

I just found an Igbo *ahem* "instrument" that apparently was used in the "guidance" *ahem* *cough**ahem* of young brides to be *ahem* *kpehe* *cough*

I'll leave you to discern the varied uses of this here implement.

Well at least now we know what they were teaching them in those fattening rooms.

A Rant

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 16:15:00 +0000

So writing this story has opened my eyes to many things. And if you commented on the excerpts I posted please don't think that this is specifically about you. Some of my friends have also read drafts of my story and from other discussions I have had with other people some things have become apparent.

There are things that are common to all human beings: needs, wants, desires, behaviours even. Because we know this, there are assumptions that are made about all groups of humans wherever they may be, and we know these assumptions to be logical because time and time again, no matter where or how they are tested they have always proven to be true. Like all things in life there are exceptions, but those exceptions are almost always individual and varied.

Now these things might be generalisations, but they are true in the general sense and so it is not incorrect to say them. For instance, all humans need food, water, and sleep. This is truth. How much of it varies from human to human but the truth of it nevertheless remains unchanged. How is this related to my point? There are aspects of human behaviour that can generally always be expected no matter what civilization we are discussing. If it is true that these aspects are common to all human populations, why then does everyone, and Africans themselves in particular, find it so difficult to accept the humanity of our African ancestors????

I know that thanks to research and access to my university's vast library holdings I am no longer ignorant of the accomplishments of my fore bearers but what irks me is WHY I was even EVER ignorant of these things in the first place. Left to Nigerian education alone, we would know NOTHING of the lives of the people that gave rise to the current population of Nigeria. NOTHING WHATSOEVER. What is even more infuriating is that as I uncover each mundane aspect of their daily lives through arduous and meticulous research, I am met with shock, resistance, and outright denial by Nigerians and other Africans around me.

What am I talking about? I am talking about how fucked up it is that Africans find it so hard to believe that their ancestors were NORMAL PEOPLE. It is FUCKED UP that we are so unwilling to ascribe to them common humanity while we more than readily give it up to the ancestors of those of other races and nations. It is FUCKED UP that even the most mundane things that we not only take for granted but expect in the history of other peoples are lauded as astounding and marvelous accomplishments in respect to our African ancestors.

Let me explain myself more clearly. While I was in Manhattan over the summer I went to an indecent number of African fairs in Brooklyn. I am generally attracted to these fairs because I am addicted to all things related to African history, in particular Nigerian/Igbo/West African history. Before I begin, my only regret in telling this story is that I seem to have stepped on my memory card and broken it so I do not have the pictures I took to drum my point in further. At the fair, I discovered a number of extremely old items:

1. A war helmet made of hard leather, reinforced by cowries on the outside and lined with down on the inside for comfort. The helmet extended to cover the ears but left the face uncovered. On top of the helmet was a black feather plume.

2. A huge wooden cupboard/closet/wardrobe/cabinet in the shape of a kneeling human. Heavily decorated of course. The torso area formed the door which opened to reveal a number of shelves made out tightly woven hard matting.

3. A very long hair pin with a leopard, a chimpanzee or other monkey and a lion intricately cast in a complex pose.

4. A huge wooden bed in a completely unique design with a sunken depression for a mattress, beautifully carved platforms for pillows and in between, another depression for a headrest if the bed was being used by one.

5. A huge wood and metal bathtub (well that's my only description for it) with a space underneath for a fire so that the person bathing can enjoy a hot bath.

6. Beautifully carved wood and gold round water bottles with covers (looked more like canteens) with delicate chain metal handles for carrying.

7. A number of beautiful miniature jewelry boxes with legs.

8. A number of ornate perfume bottles (wood, metal, and ivory) with legs.

My first thought when I happened upon these items (aside from obvious insane joy of course) was "Finally!! Proof that ancient Africans had wardrobes, did up their hair, slept in beds, took hot baths, had water bottles, wore and stored jewelry, and wore perfume!!"

I immediately felt ashamed. I would not have given even a first thought to these things if I had encountered them in a European or Asian historical movie. Yet like so many Nigerians and Africans, I needed definitive proof before I accepted that Africans 1000 years ago had the presence of mind to take hot baths. I had refused to give my ancestors their humanity and intelligence until they had 'proven' it to me by the artifacts that they left behind.

Now over and over again, when I discuss the research that I am doing for my story, particularly with my Igbo friends, they snort with laughter and incredulity when I mention things like Igbo people wearing trousers or sleeping in beds or having multiple story homes. They look at me like I'm crazy when I talk about street lights and theatre and bars and parties in relation to ancient Africa. They tell me 'please, Africans live in tiny huts and run around with spears.' I feel ashamed because I too once believed that.

What I am trying so hard (but rather unsuccessfully, I might add) to get across is that I believe that most modern day Africans do not view their ancestors as real people or even full human beings. Not only do we not know much about them, but there is generally no desire to know because it seems we generally assume that there is nothing to know about and that there is nothing in the ancient world that could compare to the world we know now.

I feel ashamed when we gush over simple things like mattresses or futons (no Leggy this is not a personal jab at you) or cupboards or hot tubs or heated seats and beds or paved streets or even storied buildings (ditto Myne Whitman). I feel ashamed that we have been so convinced of the inferiority of our ancestors that we abandon all logic and are determined to believe that someone who can afford better would continue to sleep on a bloody mat. Or that someone who could afford better would continue to maintain a floor of mud in their home even though the mere presence of a clumsy child in conjunction with liquid of any sort would quickly turn into a mess of epic proportions.

Or that someone who could afford better would continue to live in a tiny one roomed six foot high hovel in spite of the ready availabililty of all building materials rather than expanding it outwards and upwards. Or that someone who could afford better would continue taking cold baths at the stream in the depths of harmattan when hot water is easily within reach. Or that someone who knows that the night brings with it marauding predators, hell-bent spirits, and human criminals would not have the presence of mind to erect nighttime lighting in the streets for the benefit of all.

Or even worst of all, that we would ignore the simple human need for diversion, so much as to claim that Africans couldn't possibly have had parties or gathered to watch entertaining plays or listen to and adore naturally blessed singers. That we would ignore the simple need of human men to congregate together away from women at a watering hole of some sort, preferrably with copious amounts of alcohol and otherwise unattached women that we would believe that they simply could not have had bars (for want of a better word) or parties, or prostitutes.

That we would refuse to see the basic humanity of our ancestors that we believe that they had no concept of love or beauty or even DAMN COLOUR COORDINATION, that we would firmly scoff at any suggestion that Africans might have been in love, taken lovers, gone to onerous lengths or undertaken epic journeys simply for the sake of love, that Africans might appreciate the beauty of flowers, might have planted gardens, had fish ponds, or even (gasp! shock ! horror!) worn clothes and accessories in colours that complemented each other.

No, the sad reality is that in the mind of most Africans, our ancestors were little better than brutes, running around a fire in a loin cloth with spears raised, screaming "Oooga Booga!". People might not ever admit it in those terms, but watch what happens the next time you approach a random African, especially a Nigerian and suggest to them that four hundred years ago their ancestors wore high heels, and slept on soft cotton mattresses with bedsheets, pillows, and blankets, and not planks of wood, a pile of gravel, or hell even a pit of burning coals. They will scoff at you and think you crazy.

Yet, we readily accept that the ancestors of Caucasians, and Asians were sophisticated, refined, beautiful, strong, intelligent, and human. For all we know, China could have made up their entire damn 5000 years of continuous history that they are so proud of, but we accept it from them readily and without question. We immediately accept the multi-faceted humanity of THEIR ancestors, while OUR ancestors must fight tooth and nail for every scrap of dignity they wrestle from our cold dead claws.

Why do we believe these things? Because foreign historians and anthropologists and archaeologists told us so? Before 1880, most of Africa was unexplored and unknown to the outside world. All the archaeological work done in Africa hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of our vast and endless history.Most of the work has been concentrated in Egypt anyway because Egypt is the darling of the western world. We Africans haven't even shown any interest in doing any archaeological work to find out about our past even in Benin which is the most OBVIOUS WAVING FLAG because we simply aren't interested. We've been satisfied to believe that our history holds nothing of worth and as far as most Africans are concerned, they're satisfied to go on believing that. Damn, even bloody Igbo Ukwu would NEVER have been discovered if that man hadn't wanted to build a bore hole. We would rather worship and revere the ancestors of others while the glory of our own go untold in our own backyard.

I have wondered at this almost every day now, and every time I open a book and am about to feel amazement when confronted with a picture of an Igbo hunter wearing beautifully, carefully crafted sandals, I mentally slap myself. Why the hell should I be amazed that an Igbo man is wearing sandals when I take the footwear of 4th century Europeans as a given? My amazement is an insult to my ancestors because it shows that I did not believe them capable, intelligent, or even human enough to know that there are sharp objects in the ground that might puncture the foot if left unprotected.

It is one thing to appreciate the beauty of the past, but quite another to be patronizing. We patronize. We seriously do. We patronize our ancestors and I feel ashamed. Does this mean we should not drool over those gorgeous Yoruba boots? No, it does not. Those things are fucking gorgeous and they deserve all the drool in this world. What they do not deserve however is us expressing shock that they were able to accomplish simple things that are normal for other humans such as comfortable shelter, clothing, comfort, etc. in varying levels of luxury according to social stratification.

We're not all perfect, and I am certainly as far from perfect as they come, but I say this because I believe that our ancestors are deserving of respect and we do them a disservice with our "surprise" at even the simplest things we discover about them. If these things are to be expected with Caucasian and Asian ancestors then why not with ours? Are the ancestors of Caucasians and Asians inherently better than ours? No they are not. Are they more intelligent? No. Are they more anything? No. So why then, are we so skeptical of anything that says that ancient Africans were just as human as their equally ancient counterparts in other parts of the world and given to the same proclivities?

Have we so little faith in those who came before us?

This region is in relation to the debate in the comments about whether or not ancient Africans (in general) and Igbos (in particular) could have built multi-story buildings:

This is an Mbari house. An Mbari house is basically an elaborate Igbo house constructed as a shrine to the Goddess Ani.

Observe, the following house has something resembling a small attic.

If the builder of this structure knew how to make that additional level it is not a stretch to conclude that the dude could have simply expanded it on a whim? Observe the obviously strong and solid pillars that look more than capable of supporting an additional floor.

Question: Why is it so hard to believe that Igbos who built the Nsude pyramids here could not build a simple set of stairs? Bloody hell, the damn pyramids LOOK LIKE STAIRS. Surely any builder with two brain cells to rub together would make the connection?

Further Further Update: Thanks to Gin for finding this historical sketch of an Igbo two-story building. I guess this puts a new spin on things, although I have also seen historical sketches of the Igbo areas with some pretty towering structures (must did into my external harddrive and see what I can find)

Further Update: (For Azazel's Benefit):

Thank God I found this one at least. This small cupboard or whateveryouwanttocallit is Yoruba. The ones I had on my memory card were Igbo ones I personally took pictures of but since my memory card is destroyed, here's a Yoruba one. And you can tell it is Yoruba. Compare the figure on top to most Ibeji figures as well as Gelede masks. Of course this specimen is much smaller than that wardrobe I found which was ginormous.

I honestly think we just aren't comfortable with accepting our ancestors as intelligent, thinking beings. Otherwise we wouldn't be doubting the ability of grown men to solve a problem as simple as building an additional story on a building and connecting the two.

More Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 16:01:00 +0000

So, I decided to post the second part of the first chapter that I posted yesterday. This part continues directly from where the last part stopped. It's far from perfect and I am probably going to tweak it many times before it's ready. Like I said, I think I'm going to abandon the whole birth scene until I have my information right and then I'll come back to it. Thank you everyone who gave their opinion on the story, your feedback means the world to me.

Here's the second part. I hope you like it.

Twins! If Okolo had any control over his fears left, it had fled and cold horror spread through him like poison. He could think of nothing either he or Amaka could possibly have done to deserve such a curse, and as he approached the entry flap of the tent his last futile hope that the old woman was somehow seeing things was dispelled by two very distinct cries. Entering, Amaka’s wailing intensified greatly. He swept the tent for the babies until he caught sight of one in the baby bed that had been made for what was supposed to be his one child and shuddered when he saw the other fidgeting on a nearby cushion.

Okolo moved to console his wife who had been cleaned up along with the babies and was now lying and crying on a futon mattress that had been brought from the main house and laid on the mats inside the tent for her comfort. Amaka would not be comforted. This was her third pregnancy in four years and the previous two had resulted in stillbirths. Now, it was clear that this one too would end in tragedy. She had refused to even look at the babies and was noticeably leaning away from them. Seeing her husband’s ashen face she had resumed crying with a deep sadness that she didn’t even know she felt before now. She was so ashamed. They had married with fanfare. Unlike most other people in their town, they had been fortunate, they were in love.

She had met him when she was ten at the New Yam Festival; the masquerades had come out and in spite of her femininity, she had wanted to see. The spirits had noticed her and chased her through the streets brandishing whips. In her panic she had turned into a dead end and he had rescued her, pulling her through the gates of his compound and hiding her in the shrine to Ani which the masquerades wouldn’t dare enter. Afterwards, she had come out laughing and they had abandoned the festivities for a quiet streamside nearby where they had shared udala and roasted a small fish he had caught for them while he told her great stories of the hunt. They had been together ever since and when she turned thirteen and he had come to her mother with ten cowries and four yams to ask for her virginity, she had not been surprised, only happy that he had asked first and not another. In the eight years that she had known him, their dreams had been of a life together, a full house, and shared happiness. Now once again, she had failed him.

Okolo disentangled himself from his wife and collected himself. Summoning his courage he got up and strode purposefully across the tent towards the large flap that served as the door. He had already extended his arm, reaching forward to pull it back when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” It was the agida.

The question broke his momentum. He had meant to do it quickly, without thought and therefore without feeling, but her stupid question had forced him to face the reality of what he was about to do and now he was afraid his resolve might dissipate. He turned to her, his eyes soulless and his face blank. Why was she asking anyway? It was not like she didn’t know. If she was really an agida, and she seemed to be, then she must know.

-“The Eze Muo must be sent for. But you already know this.”

The agida nodded but still her hand rested on his shoulder. She was old. Not very, but old enough. She had not always been an agida but one didn’t have to be an agida long to see what she had seen. She was old and she was tired, and she was sick of it.

“Must he really?” She asked, giving Okolo a sharp glare. “Would you so easily hand over your children to be killed?”

-“Those abominations are not my children!”

The agida raised one eyebrow in annoyance. Were she not so angry she would have laughed at the man’s cowardice. “If you will go, then before you do, come take a closer look.”

Okolo allowed himself to be guided by the little old woman’s hand pressing flat on his back, directing him towards the little bed where one of the twins lay, fascinated by its foot. The old woman held up a lamp so he could see better and as he gazed upon the tiny child with its already browning skin and its little black mop of softly curling hair he felt the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips, and when he reached out to touch that hair and a tiny set of fingers grabbed on to his and wouldn’t let go, the last of his resolve crumbled away.

“You are their father.” The woman whispered as she knelt beside him holding the lamp aloft. “You are their protector. They depend on you. You must not fail them.”

With that she withdrew, leaving the man to fall victim to the tendrils of love that the two little girls were slowly but surely burrowing into his heart.

So that's the second part. I guess it gives you an idea of what might happen next. Frankly, I don't even know how to write what happens next. It's supposed to be slightly dramatic but not overly so, so I'm considering very carefully how to write it and I might probably re-write the whole thing once I'm done so hey.

Either way, let me know what you think, and thanks to everyone who gave advice about the delivery scene.

BTW, I watched some live birth videos on YouTube and I am proud to say that I have been permanently traumatized and mentally scarred. You're welcome.

Important Background Information

Eze Muo: Igbo priest that among other things, specializes in the extermination of twins, triplets, and other human multiples.

Ani: Igbo Earth Goddess - in charge of the Earth, fertility, sexuality, prosperity (with crops), guardian of the dead, most important Goddess in Igbo cosmology. (sorry I forgot to add this in the first post)

A Little Bit of Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:05:00 +0000

So I'm working on a story, which is exciting because I haven't written a story in so, so, long!!! Also, I've never completed a story but this one I'm writing actually seems like it's worth giving a damn about. I'm hoping that this will be the story I finish (and maybe publish - fingers crossed!!) but I'm far from being done yet ( I would even say far from beginning since I've been writing higgeldy-piggeldy and in no particular order.)

Plus I haven't even got to the meat of the story yet, but it's all here in my head and it's itching to get out. This whole term I've carried around this weird feeling in my head that's only relieved whenever I put pen to paper so I've finally given in and started writing. I had writer's block a while back. It was horrible, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

Either way, I've developed the main characters and I've written some of their back stories, but I only just got through the beginning sequence of the story. I've written lots of other chapters but I had been avoiding the beginning because honestly, I had no idea how to begin. After giving it some thought, I decided to begin at the beginning because given the nature of the story, honestly, that's the only logical place to begin. (and after you read it you will see why).

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here is the beginning of the story. Please tell me what you think.

This beginning part doesn't mention any of the main characters (even though some of them are very present there).

Here goes:

Chapter 1

Ogoli Amaka was having a baby. Beads of sweat shimmered on her forehead like the stars that littered the night sky above her. Her hands grasped the black ropes that hung down from a metal frame near the ceiling of the birthing tent and her jaw vibrated as she bit down on the wooden bar that the midwife had placed in her mouth to stifle her screams. Her legs ached, her pelvis was on fire, and the cold night breeze rocked the tent slightly as she squatted under the temporary shelter that had been put up by her husband for the birth the month before.

The old woman held up a lamp and wiped the sweat from the panting woman’s face. “It will come soon.” She said in her scratchy voice. “You young women have no stamina. Be brave! You must not scream or you will frighten away your baby’s chi, and then what will you do?” Hearing this Amaka bit the bar harder, willing the sound building within her to die in her throat. It was a chill harmattan night and she was cold and uncomfortable even though her skin had been rubbed thoroughly with palm oil. The thin cotton robe she wore did not provide much insulation against the breeze and although she was spared the worst of it by the huge yellow tent, the top still opened to the night sky and through that opening a small draught had found its way in to torment her.

Suddenly Amaka felt a heavy pressure in her pelvis and under the direction of the old midwife, she gritted her teeth and pushed. Reeling she gripped the ropes tighter to steady herself. She had almost lost her balance from the effort of the push and fallen from her squatting position to the floor. Her large protruding belly made balancing that much harder but she was determined to get the birth over with sooner rather than later.

Steadying herself she looked to the older woman for guidance. Seeing her nod, Amaka took a deep breath and heaved downwards again. This time the baby slid out into the waiting arms of the midwife. Laughing with relief and wincing in pain, Amaka let go of the ropes and thankfully collapsed backwards onto the pile of floor cushions behind her, but something was wrong. She felt a movement in her womb as the pain came again.

“Agida!” She called out in alarm, alerting the midwife to her distress. The old lady frowned and setting the now-swaddled child down in the baby bed, shuffled over to see what was wrong. “There’s something there!” Amaka said, her eyes large with fear.
-“Yes, that must be the placenta coming out.”
“No,” Amaka shook her head emphasizing that the woman was wrong. “there’s something big and it’s coming out.”
The agida sucked in a sharp breath. “It can’t be. It shouldn’t be.”

Quickly motioning for Amaka to squat again and hold onto the ropes, she produced a mirror from her nabi and slid it underneath Amaka, holding an oil lamp close so she could see. Sure enough, the head of a second baby could clearly be seen making its way out into the world.
“Push!” she ordered and Amaka gave a huge push, sending the second child out towards life.
Three minutes later two sets of cries pierced the stillness of the night.

******************************************************************************

Okolo heard Amaka’s sobs long before the tent came into view. Coming round the corner towards the orange glow of the lamps and the candles surrounding and within the birthing tent, the sounds of her grief drowned out the infant cries that he was straining so hard to hear and his heart sank into his stomach. He was sure the child was stillborn. They had married four years ago when she was only fourteen and he eighteen, and while all the other women of her age grade already had a retinue of children, their home was once again deprived of this joy.

“Oh Ani!” He whispered in prayer as the agida approached him, his wife’s screams in the background. The old woman’s face was grim and worn with so many lines she looked like she had ichi on her forehead.

“Nne anyi,” he addressed her with the honorific term of respect, ‘Our Mother’, clutching the folds of her dress. “Will my wife live?” The old lady nodded and Okolo’s shoulders sagged with relief, but his stomach was still a roiling pit of fear. “Nne anyi,” he whispered “is the child dead?”
The agida pulled herself to her full height, which wasn’t much and squared her shoulders.
“Worse,” she said almost inaudibly. “Ejima.”

Important Background Information:

This story is set in the 9th century. At the time, and even up to the 1890s and early 1900s, it was common for Igbo girls to marry around the ages of 13, 14 and upwards (or a few years after menstruation began - whichever came first)

All Igbo people are divided into age grades. Life achievements are always compared against those of other members of the same age grade. Not really practised anymore in modern Igbo life.

Ogoli is an Igbo term used to refer to married women. It is and at the same time not equivalent to Mrs but it does serve the same function in pointing out that the woman addressed is indeed married. It can also be used on its own to mean Married Woman or Women (i.e. ANY married woman or women)

Ejima is the Igbo word for Twin or Twins (no plural)

Ichi are tribal marks that are worn only by Igbo men. They are a series of lines cut into the forehead in a slightly diagonal fashion. They aren't worn by many Igbo men these days because of the general decline in the popularity of tribal marks.

Agida is an Igbo word I made up for midwife since the original word is lost to us. Nabi is another Igbo word I made up to refer specifically to a wrapper. As far as I know the word that refers specifically to wrapper and not its type (e.g. ankara, george, akwete, etc - "AKWA" refers to cloth. Any cloth no matter what length, colour, shape or size, as long as it is a fabric, and as such is a generic word for cloth/fabric/material) has been unrecoverable in the language. I REFUSE to accept that the Igbo word for wrapper is wrappa or even worse lappa. I absolutely REFUSE. Writers of horrible Igbo dictionaries, die and be damned. I fucking refuse.

I don't know what childbirth is like so this is my imagined version of childbirth based on what I've heard and seen so far. If you have actually experienced childbirth and find my description off, please let me know so I can make it as accurate as possible.

Also, traditionally Igbo women are not supposed to give birth inside the house. They must give birth outside and then when the child is born and all the stuff is done, they must carry the child in their arms and step backwards into the house. If it was raining or harmattan or if there was likely to be any inclement weather during the birth, a tent would be used, but no inside-house births. Ever. Of course, the coming of the missionaries changed all that.

So, what do you think?

I wrote a Haiku!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:52:00 +0000

Well my Haiku is technically a Senryu since it's not about the seasons.

Also, my haiku just so happens to be in Igbo... it still counts right?

My little poem conforms to haiku rules because it is 17 on long, first line is 5 on, second line 7 on, and the last line is 5 on.

(On = syllable)

Yay, here it is:

Nwunye na Nuno
Di teta ila mili
Onwu ga fa so

Breakdown:

Nwu/nye/na/nu/no - 5 on
Di/ te/ta/i/la/mi/li - 7 on
O/nwu/ga/fa/so - 5 on

Translation:

Wife and her lover
Husband wakes to get a drink (water)
Death follows soon

Yay!! I feel so proud of myself and my little Senryu!!! :D

Scripters Needed!!

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 19:43:00 +0000

The Ndebe Project is looking for Scripters - people to test the script. It's very easy and takes very little time. Every couple of days a short list of words to be transcribed will be posted and we would like Scripters to transcribe the list and scan or take photos of their writing and post them in the group gallery along with feedback about the process. We would like to see how well other people are able to write with the script and the feedback helps in making adjustments. The project is as you know, totally open source so there is no compensation for Scripting (but there's no compulsion to script either) but we appreciate all the help we get and promise to express our gushing thanks to those who volunteer small portions of their time to Script.

If you'd like to Script please let me know either in the comments here or on the Ndebe blog or on the group page on Facebook.

Shameless Plug

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 02:22:00 +0000

Hey everyone so my gorgeous friend Nev is featured on Black Girl With Long Hair as one of the Now and Then transitioners. Nev recently (well not soooo recently) cut her hair (which was natural before and soooo pretty and then she relaxed it) and is now back to being natural so go over there and check her out!!!

A Random Post about Language

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:29:00 +0000

So one of my pet peeves is the fact that many Nigerians (and especially Igbo Nigerians) refuse to speak their language in public. Being that I attend school in America, this baffles me even more. The ability to speak a language other than English is invaluable in this country because it gives you privacy no matter where you are. At my school most of the Nigerians are Igbo and not only are they Igbo they all seem to be from Anambra (myself included). Imagine the conversations we could have! The lively in-jokes, the nostalgic memory sessions, etc. Yet every single one of my friends absolutely REFUSES to speak Igbo to me.

To understand the extend of the ridiculousness, whenever we're all sitting together and gisting, I invariably get told "hush! Your voice is too loud, those oyinbos on the other table will hear you!"

Do you know why this statement pisses me off? Because if everyone would just agree to gist in Igbo then I wouldn't have to worry about the oyinbos down the road hearing me.

It absolutely baffles me. The Japanese students all speak Japanese to each other. They don't care if noone else around understands them. In fact they usually have a very disgusted look on their face if you suggest to them that they should speak in English for your benefit. Same thing with the French students who are even more adept at ignoring any nearby English students, same thing with the Germans and the Arabs.

Only the Nigerians insist on speaking English, whispering like witches for privacy when they could all have been at ease.

Once when we were waiting in line for something and I saw my friend and went up to him and said "Kedu? I ma ebe anyi ga no?" - I was saying hi and asking if he knew where we were all going to sit - He became very embarrassed and whispered angrily to me not to speak "that bush language to him in front of these white girls".

I was like O_o.

Other excuses I've gotten from my friends are that they are not fluent in Igbo. You know what I told them? I said ' how will you ever become fluent if you don't practice? If we all spoke Igbo to each other, surely after a month our fluency would have jumped up a couple of notches"

But no, Igbo is bush, Igbo will make white people think less of them, Igbo will make black americans think less of them, they don't want to be associated with 'that'... what does 'that' even mean?

So I'm stuck with 8 Igbo people that I can't speak Igbo to. Go figure.

You know what really pisses me off though? You will find Igbo people trying to suck up to these same Japanese, French, and German students, proudly speaking to them in their broken French while the French kids look on in amusement. I have never encountered a single international student that was even remotely interested in learning a word of any of the African students' languages, yet all the African students can't wait to show off the five new words they've learned in Chinese or whatever while the real Chinese students laugh at them.

Yeah I know, this is a very badly written rant but I'm high on Halloween candy so whatever.

On the flip side btw, I've noticed that watching so much Inuyasha is making me understand Japanese whether I'm willing to or not.

I woke up yesterday and realised that I somehow magically and miraculously am beginning to understand what is happening in the cartoon even when I'm not looking at the screen.

So far I understand the following words

Neko - Cat
Inu - Dog
Ano - But
Daijobu? - Are you alright
Kaze - Wind
Kaze no Kizu - Wind Scar
Arigato - Thank you
Sayo nara - Good bye
Aniki - Big Brother
Otouto -Little Brother
Chichi-ue - Honored Father
Haha-ue - Honored Mother
Baka - Fool/Idiot
Baka na koto o - Don't say foolish things
Otou-san - Daddy
Okaa-san - Mommy
Onee-we/san - Sister
Fuujin no Mai - Dance of the Dragon
Bakuryuha - Backlash Wave
Kaza Na - Wind Tunnel
Houshi - Monk
Taijiya - Demon slayer
Youkai - Demon
Hanyou - Half Demon
Ningen - Human being
Saimyosho - Naraku's poison insects
Sugoi - Amazing
Katana - Sword
Osuwari - Sit
And many more. It is very strange. It's like watching this series suddenly filled my head with all this extra information.

Anyway that's my random language post. Very disorganized but hey, Kit Kat makes you high.

Chinese People Don Come Again

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 18:27:00 +0000

So I came across a post on China Smack (which is really a very fascinating website btw) about a young rural Chinese girl and her family who work in a brick making factory.

I read the article and saw pictures of a young, beautiful, and hardworking girl pulling wagons of bricks all day long while simultaneously looking after her three younger siblings in order to help her family.

Like so,

Unfortunately,

I saw the comments.

Despite the very obvious Chinese-ness of this girl and her surroundings, lo and behold, this beauty caught my eye:

Wow.

Really? No seriously. Really????

So, anybody who is poor or suffering, no matter their ethnicity, no matter what they look like, no matter where they are, no matter where they are from, no matter what the situation is must be in/from Africa.....

Other charming anecdotes from the amazing Chinese netizens:

The following ones were in response to a Chinese girl that posted a picture of herself and her Black boyfriend on her MySpace page:

Wow.

Blank Stare.

O_O

I'm in Love with a Japanese Demon

noreply@blogger.com (Sugabelly) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 22:38:00 +0000

I cannot believe I have watched all 167 episodes of Inuyasha. Even worse, I cannot believe I have spent the past two weeks reading Sesshomaru/Rin fan fiction.

I need to get this out of my system. I can't do anything useful with myself. All I want to do is read stories about Sesshomaru and Rin to my heart's content. To make matters worse, I just returned my books to library and I have a $130 late fee!! It's not my fault I love reading. This is going to bankrupt me. I'll have to pay them in $5 monthly installments at this rate. Or maybe I can sell some of my shoes to raise the funds... sigh.

Where was I? Yes, back to Sessh. Oh my goodness his name is the most beautiful thing ever: Sesshomaru. What's even sexier is what his name means.

Sesshomaru - The Killing Perfection. And it describes him perfectly.

Frankly, in my opinion, the whole Inu family is hot. There I was, minding my own business, thinking Sesshomaru was hot when I stumbled upon the 3rd Inuyasha movie and discovered the heavenly goodness that is Sesshomaru and Inuyasha's father, Inu no Taisho. *high pitched squeal of delight accompanied with weak knees and thumping heartbeats*.

This is totally insane but I'm in love. Like head over heels in love with this family.

First there's the half-demon (Hanyou) Inuyasha who is pretty cute but in a teenage boy kind of way:

Then there's his dripping, oozing hot older brother Sesshomaru who is a full-blooded demon (youkai)

Did I mention that Sesshoumaru is the Lord of the Western Lands? So that's Sesshoumaru-sama to you and me.

Then just when you think it can't get any hotter, comes along their sexy-as-fuck father, Inu no Taisho (The Great Dog General)

Personally he can Kaze no Kizu me any time of night and day. He is so freaking hot. And this is someone's father. Sure he's a full-blooded Inu Taiyoukai and he's over 3000 years old and he doesn't age but damn!! Why don't men or youkai like this roam the world freely for the happiness of women everywhere?

The best thing about Inu no Taisho is that while Sesshomaru is sexy but aloof and cold as ice (with an amazingly sexy/dreamy baritone voice I might add), Inu no Taisho is all those things but passionate and gruff and wild and dashing and very very male with an even deeper even sexier even more dreamily masculine voice. Plus he's ten times hotter than his son, and unlike him, he's not bishie despite the white hair. Damn!!Oh my goodness. I know Inuyasha is a children's program but seriously, the sexiness coming off it in waves is something else.

Usually I leave the analysis of Japanese cartoons to Eccentric, and I can hardly say I did any sort of analysis here besides shamelessly prostitute myself to Inu no Taisho and Sessh, but seriously yo, every time I watch the scene where Inu no Taisho is talking to Sesshomaru right before he fights Takemaru to save Izayoi (who is pregnant with Inuyasha) and dies, I want to melt into a pile of jelly.

He might be a cartoon but I'd have no problem letting this Chichi-ue have fun with my chichis.