Tuesday, 22 May 2012

The Flaming Flamingoes (Part 3)


If you are squeamish or easily scared, I would advise you skip part 3 of this story and wait for part 4 to be published. 

Don't go past this point! okay?

All right, where was I?
Ah yes, my left arm swollen like a melon, that is, if you look from one angle and a pumpkin if you check it from a different angle, me crying like an son of a @%&/gun surrounded by first aiders and curious spectators. The whole of my left arm was supported by two others and myself, as we gingerly made for the rickety taxi magically summoned from somewhere. I was still sobbing as we headed toward the nearest hospital which was in a town about twenty five miles away. The country air that blew across my face as the taxi raced down the rural road,  had a bit of a calming effect, if I didn't look at my left arm or think about my situation, it kind of made the trip to the hospital more bearable until we rolled toward the gates of the general hospital, that is when the pain really got me and I almost fainted.

Then the taxi drove through these massive hospital gates and hit a pothole. Being a rickety ramshackle, this vehicle had little or no shock absorbers and so the shock of this bump in the road seemed to have been absorbed by my injury and concentrated itself into pain and agony, as it shot up my broken arm and into my brain. I must have fainted because the next thing I remember was sitting morosely in a hospital ward. My left arm bandaged, padded up and in a sling around my shoulders. I remained in this state, kind of feeling sorry for myself for a long while until after supper when my friends came calling. I felt a little better with my pals around, then it was time for them to leave, so I took a walk with them towards the gate. I must admit I was kind of tempted to keep walking and leave with my friends but one of them suggested I at least wait and have an xray done before I consider taking off.

As we were walking within the grounds, I started to take stock of my surroundings, there was a big administrative building next to my ward, adjacent to this building was a bungalow that housed a pharmacy. A lot of people were milling around this pharmacy waiting for their medication. In front of the big admin building was a gravel drive, cut through well mown lawns that had circular flowerbeds at even intervals. There were all kinds of people around, some out patients coming and going, hospital workers of every description and also those who are involved in some kind of enterprise and found the grounds of this hospital the ideal place to ply their trade. From the mandatory cigarette and sweet seller comfortably sitting in the shade under a massive tree to the occasional hawker carrying their goods in a tray on top of their heads. Food sellers had also staked their claim to certain parts of the hospital grounds.

On the other side of the big green lawn, was a building and whenever the wind changed direction, a kind of ripe aroma wafted from the direction of this building. I vaguely remembered this smell when my taxi first rolled into the hospital grounds but because of the massive pain, it didn't really register with me then. The smell of antiseptics and medication within the main hospital buildings also covers up other smells and aroma. "What's that smell? someone asked, I had a good idea but I wasn't saying. So Kola, another friend who happens to come from this very town decides to tell us anyway, "that's the mortuary, that's where they keep the dead bodies". Now Kola starts up about the stories he'd heard from family friends who live near this hospital. Stories of zombies roaming the hospital grounds at night. Weird tales of chicanery by mortuary attendants and mysterious deaths of perfectly healthy people like me who never left this hospital alive after being admitted for minor ailments. Looking at the faces of my other friends, I could see that some of them were buying Kola's crap and of course he was enjoying feeding it to them in shovel loads. I told him to cut it out, he teased me a little more and by the time he admitted he was only joking nobody else thought it funny.

My first night in a hospital ward, I hardly slept a wink. My arm where the bone was fractured constantly throbbed with pain, especially when I changed position, the pain would bring me out of my sleep. There was also an accident victim at the end of the ward who screamed in pain the whole of the night. This man according to the story I heard, was sleeping on a plank laid across the back of a heavy goods vehicle, the vehicle hits a bump on a highway in the middle of nowhere and the sleeping guy is thrown from the back of the vehicle and somehow end up beneath the tyres of this trailer. The thigh bones in both his legs ended up being crushed to powder. The poor guy was admitted and brought to the ward screaming in pain. By dawn the man was dead but I still remember the screams and agonising pain he must have endured throughout that night.

The man in the next bed to me slept the whole time I was there, while the accident victim was screaming in pain, my neighbour slept. I couldn't sleep but this guy in the next bed just kept sleeping. I concluded the nurses must have given him some sleep medication. His family were around him the whole time some put mats next to his bed and slept  there on the floor, but this guy could sleep and I couldn't.

The next morning, the man with the crushed thigh bones was pronounced dead by the doctor and arrangements were made to move the guy to the mortuary. The doctor on duty made his way from bed to bed, talking to patients then the nurses as he came closer and closer to where I was lying. The nurses had opened The big picture widows in the ward and more relatives of the guy in the neighbouring bed (who was still sleeping by the way) were standing in the corridor on the other side of the window at the top of his bed looking into our ward. The doctors stops in front of my neighbours bed, pull the patients sheet back to examine the guy with his stethoscope then take the stethoscope out of his ear and tells the ward staff in a loud voice "This guy is dead! He's been dead for hours" the doctor didn't realise the man's family were around. Of course pandemonium breaks out with the grieving family all torn up and they were of course totally inconsolable. I decided to take a walk and get away from the grief all around my vicinity as I gingerly followed two fellow patients from my ward toward the hospital garden.

My two fellow patients turned out to be army officers injured in a road traffic accident on their way to the war front (There was a vicious civil war raging in the country). I didn't know wether to congratulate or commiserate with them but I asked them for a cigarette anyway. I had never smoked a cigarette before this moment but I felt like a smoke because I noticed that the cigarette smoke somehow covered up the smell wafting over from the mortuary, reluctantly the army captain gives me his half smoked cigarette and they both start to ask me how I came to be injured. They were both nice guys, a lieutenant and captain in their early twenties who looked like they were slightly relieved to be away from battle and the war front about three hundred miles away from us.

(To be continued)


Sunday, 20 May 2012



Just to be clear about one thing!!!
All the stories on this site, are works of fiction i.e. Crayon and the Jujuman, A Factional Tale. Kalakuta Tales, The Flaming Flamingoes etc. Names, characters, places and incidents of every type are the product of the author's imagination or have been  or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is totally coincidental.

Thursday, 17 May 2012

The Flaming Flamingoes (Part 2)

A lot of fouls in today's soccer games were never considered as fouls in my day, they were considered part of the game, if you don't hop out of the way of a wicked kick in those days and you got caught, tough, you just had to grin and bear it, some spectators even considered it hilariously funny if you ended up rolling about on the ground in agony, especially if the foul was committed discreetly. So whenever I ended up on the wrong end of a tackle which usually hurt a lot, the last thing I wanted to show, was my agony. I may wince a little and limp for the remainder of the match but would never give our opponents the satisfaction of letting them know they hurt me. The best revenge, would be to finish the match as winners, which happened often.  

In a fifty, fifty situation when the foul actually was blatant, the benefit of the doubt was usually given to the defender that clumsily tackled you and it was never viewed as intentional which in a lot of cases, it was. If you complained, they made fun of you. For example if you yelled foul in an attempt to get the referee's attention, some spectators and even a few opposing players would yell back, you mean fowl, insinuating you were chicken, so it was best not to say anything and just get on with your game. You also had to remember that there were maybe about a dozen other guys who had their eyes on your shirt and would happily see you hurt and stretchered off, which would increase their own chances of getting into the team.

I have often overheard coaches, managers and supporters advising the defenders of  the teams they support to hurt the most talented players within the opposition and get them stretchered off or intimidate them in order to increase their team's chances of winning. One of the most common phrases in those days was "if you miss the ball, don't miss his leg". So playing competitive soccer in my day could be very risky indeed.

On this particular match day, it was only after I arrived on the field to play this friendly match that I was informed that Joe Giwa would be playing for the opposing team. Now big Joe used to play for us, he was a strong defender and he usually took pleasure in using his size to intimidate opponents. Apart from his size, this guy can play but if you got the better of him once too often, watch out, he will find a way to somehow cramp your style and put you completely off your game. I wasn't too worried though because Joe wasn't a malicious player, a little clumsy maybe, but never malicious. Also we had played on the same side before so we both knew each other's strengths and weaknesses.

What happened to me was this, I got slide tackled by Joe and as I was falling, this big fellow had his arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind and I basically fell with both our weights on my outstretched left arm. Some survival instinct within me made me roll both our bodies in a direction that I didn't sustain a break at the elbow, but I heard the cartilage bone in my left elbow make a cracking sound. The agony was indescribable.

By the time this big oaf got off me, my left arm had swollen massively. I didn't care if anyone saw me crying, I was bawling my eyes out. Ten minutes later, I was in a cab heading for the hospital but I never imagined that when we got there, I would be admitted and would have to spend a few days in this remote hospital which was exactly what happened.

(To be continued)



Sunday, 13 May 2012

'Bodederek link

'Bodederek This is my link to the cloud (i.e. Soundcloud) people. One click and you're there! Enjoy, it's All Pleasure and No Pain! Lots of stuff coming your way. I just don't know whether to assail your senses all at once or give it up in little doses like the most effective medicines. Whichever way I decide, it will be done with a lot of love and understanding.

Stay cool and watch out for "Kalakuta Tales" it is coming to this Blog page shortly!

I have set up a group on Soundcloud called "The Shakatu Brigade" where we will explore the most relevant concepts and sounds group members feel needs developing.

The site should explain itself better than I can do here!



The Flaming Flamingoes!

Flaming Flamingoes: A football Story 

We called ourselves the flaming flamingoes and happened to be the most exciting seven a side team of our era. This was a team dear to my heart because I conceived, planned and with the help of a few friends, made it happen. 

I was already a member of a senior team of semi-professional players, but that only made me a small part of a bigger team which I felt privileged to belong to as I was very young and liked the attention and look of awe my playing provoked in the eyes of the spectators.

I was never a humble player, I was a stubborn one, and because of my demeanour the older boys would try to hurt me by committing various wicked tackles and fouls on me. The harder they chopped at me, the more determined I was to make them look stupid. It worked for me a lot of the time and there have been a lot of guys who quit playing altogether because I made them look so clumsy, some even lost their chicks after they revealed on the football field what wicked souls they really were. I must admit also that there were many a days I also considered quitting because of the agony caused me by some wicked chops I never saw coming.

Playing with older guys can be fun sometimes, but not always, as you tend to be the one they love to order around and you end up in the position of one guy saying one thing and the other guy saying the exact opposite. You can imagine what happens if we lose a match, yes, I get blamed for it! The senior guy that would vehemently bully me out of my position would never admit to his error and being the little kid, I would have to suffer the consequences, until next time.

It was Solly that asked me one day why I was putting up with all that nonsense from these guys that I had worked so hard to keep in some tough games, where we came from behind to achieve a virtual impossibility. Worse was the fact that none of them ever stuck up for me when members and supporters of the other team would threaten and intimidate me prior to a match in attempts to put me off my game and demoralise.

Two regional trophies and a runners-up medal in a third was proof of the effectiveness of the senior team I played for, but after the match has become a distant memory, credit for our achievements never ever came my way and people who never contributed to our team or it's success were sometimes given privileges they didn't deserve. All of these I put up with until the day I suffered an injury that put me in hospital.

(To be continued)



Wednesday, 9 May 2012


'Bodederek This is my link to the cloud (i.e. Soundcloud) people. One click and you're there! Enjoy, it's All Pleasure and No Pain! Lots of stuff coming your way. I just don't know whether to assail your senses all at once or give it up in little doses like the most effective medicines. Whichever way I decide, it will be done with a lot of love and understanding.

Stay cool and watch out for "Kalakuta Tales" it is coming to this Blog page shortly!

I have set up a group on Soundcloud called "The Shakatu Brigade" where we will explore the most relevant concepts and sounds group members feel needs developing.

The site should explain itself better than I can do here!



Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Coming Soon!!

Kalakuta Tales are stories relating to Kalakuta Republic the residence and community of the late Afro beat king, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. The interactions within the organisation of musicians, dee jays, dancers, artistes. The intrigues and struggles with various military regimes in Nigeria at the time. The authorities constant raids in search of evidence to criminalise Fela. Government spies and agents trying to infiltrate Fela's organisation to get evidence to silence this thorn in their side.

Visits from international artistes and musicians coming to show Fela solidarity and also to express their admiration. Ginger Baker's stint in Nigeria included collaborative work with Fela which culminated in a recording at Abbey Road studios in London. The album was called "London Scene", these were the happening time in Nigeria. Paul and Linda McCartney happened to be in Nigeria during these exciting times also recording the wings album "Band on the Run" at EMI studios in Lagos. 

Fela's influence on the youth in Nigeria, military shenanigans is all in these tales up to and including what was then known as Kalakuta Show, the storming and burning to the ground of Fela's Kalakuta Republic residence by over 1000 soldiers from the Nigerian military. 

Tours with Roy Ayers, our take on all of these and more, stories from the important players, youthful perspectives and the general opinion within Nigeria.

A few cronies of the military justifying the heavy handedness of the government of the day by asking how you can have a republic within a republic completely missing the point that a military junta cannot call itself a republic, it is a dictatorship.

This is coming soon!

Wait for it!


Nothing like this anywhere, only on my site.!

Bodederek.com has these and more to offer. Financiers, movie producers, writers, documentary makers and lovers of Afro beat music, I am seeking collaborators for a number of  projects about the above and much, much, more.........


The Dogon Tribe

And The Ancestors From Space The Dogon people of Mali in West Africa have a Space history, and it's quite a compelling one too. ...