Nigerian parade!

Yesterday I went to a Nigerian parade in my neighborhood.

It was to start at noon according to posters, but it was nowhere near starting, so I stopped by an African goods shop, and the guy told me to stop by an African restaurant, and the girl there said the parade was going to begin 12-12:30-1pm (at that time it was 12:15pm), so I went to the local grocery store and got groceries and went home and unpacked them, then I strolled back and it was like 12:45pm, and still no parade, so I started walking up the advertised parade route.

There were a few traffic cops working at an intersection, so I asked them about the parade and they looked at their info sheets, but there was no listed starting time, but the one (hispanic) (female) one said that it should be starting by 1pm or so.

"I hate these gloves," she was like, as she pulled them off to unfold her info sheet better.

So, I started walking further up the parade route, and at the starting point at 1pm, all I could see was Nigerians and frustrated cops looking at each other, as well as Nigerians in full African garb going around looking at like the 6 floats (2 of which were from money-wiring companies), and a ton of cars lined up full of Nigerians and Nigerian flags sticking out the windows.

So, I went into a store and got some cheesey-popcorn, and strolled around the starting point and then down back...

The parade finally started going like 1:50pm, and at that time a downpour started, after misting and cold winds all afternoon.

And, after going for 2 seconds, this really fat Nigerian woman who was on the second float took a microphone and called out into it that someone should go stop the 1st police car, they had 2 hours of time left for reserved traffic redirection and he was going too fast, he should slow down so the parade lasts.

"And it is raining!", she was like, "But the rain is a blessing!"

Like 2 people were watching, and she invited them to come jump on the float... 1 other float did that as well, it was very nice.

The very very last float was some old Nigerian guys, and when one of them clapped his hands out towards the 2 spectators and was like, "Happy birthday, Nigeria!", he saw me smile, and he and the other guys nodded and clapped.

My one (Nigerian) coworker, on deep-dish pizza.

The other week a resident's son put on a big birthday party for her and we were invited to go up and have some food, and when I went up later to go check on the clean-up and to see if I could help, the son sent a box of leftover deep-dish pizza down for me and the rest of the staff.

I went to our staff office area to offer it to people, and the only person there was our one (Nigerian) supervisor, who I later found out had been invited up by two of our (Tibetan) coworkers to have some pizza but had said no, that he didn't like pizza.

"What is that?", he was like, when he saw me with the pizza box open and I asked him if wanted some to take some home.

"Pizza," I was like.

"This is pizza?!", he was like, and he held up a slice and looked at it and then held it out to me and began pointing out the layers.

"There is so much bread, there is so much cheese, there is so much meat, this is not pizza!".

He tried it, then, and he was quite the fan.

"What is this?", he was like, and then he flipped open the top of the pizza box and saw the local pizza chain that had made the deep-dish pizza.

"I need a picture of this," he was like, and he then took out his phone and took a picture of the pizza box top, to save for later so he always would know where that pizza had come from.

Our (Tibetan) coworkers came in around then and we started talking, and it turns out that none of them had ever heard about deep-dish pizza.

"I don't like pizza," our one (Nigerian) coworker was like, "It is cheese, and so much crust.  But I like this, I will go there one day and order some."

"It's like thirty dollars for one," I was like.

"But of course!", he was like, "There is so much bread, there is so much cheese, there is so much meat, of course it is thirty dollars for one."

Immunization (1 of 3): Lead-up.

In the lead-up to the first Covid immunization dose at the resthome, it was surprising how many people were deciding not to take the vaccine.

Most of them were (West African), too; some of the (Filipinos) seemed skeptical at first, but they mostly all came around, in a way that the (West Africans) didn't.

"I have Jesus in my blood," said one (Nigerian) woman who works nightshift.

Another (older) (heavier set) (Nigerian) nightshift worker, too, told the (older) (white) (townie) frontdesk worker that it's fine with Covid, if you get it you drink a tea made with lemon and ginger, no problem, that's what all her friends back home say.

"Really?",  the frontdesk worker was like to her, she said. "Are you telling me that, that you're smarter than all the scientists, and that's all you have to do? If so, you're dumb, because you could be a millionaire."

Later, I told that same (older) (heavier set) (Nigerian) nightshift worker the various reasons why the vaccine makes sense and why it's less dangerous than the alternative, and I added in that no offense, but to be perfectly frank, she should recognize that she's in an increased risk group for severe illness and death, because she's overweight.

"Overweight?", she was like. "No, I am obese, and I am not going to lose weight for Covid."

Resthome conversations: (Nigerians) in politics.

The other week at the resthome, I bumped into my one (heavier) (older) (Nigerian) coworker at shift change, and I asked her if she had heard about the one (Nigerian) economist who was going to be head of the World Trade Organization.

"No," she was like. "Who?".

So, I googled her and I showed her her name and her picture, and then she was like, "Oh, Iweala, no-one likes her, she stole a lot and then moved to Europe, she performs for people there, no-one likes her, that is why I didn't hear."

Then, she asked me if I had heard that Joe Biden has 3 Nigerians in his administration.

I hadn't, so I googled it, and I found out that she was right.

It was interesting that she knew this, I thought; she's never struck me as someone who's super plugged into politics, but I guess she mildly is, and news about representation must get around.

A trip by cab to pick up a resthome resident.

Last month, I had to hop in a cab and go pick up a resthome resident who’s a retired professor from a dentist’s appointment, after his ride back to the resthome fell through and he was stranded a ways away in a big suburban mall where his dentist's office is located.

Our cab driver was a(n older) (Nigerian) guy with sunglasses, and on our way out of the parking lot, someone behind him was blowing his horn, probably because our taxi driver did something wrong with the traffic rules.

“Go ahead, blow your horn,” he was like.

Then, after a pause, he was like, “Tire yourself out.”

But, he didn’t say that in a mean way, just as a way of interacting with the person in the car behind him, whoever they were, even though they couldn’t hear him.

Or, maybe it was his way of establishing his presence before us.

Anyhow, later, I was telling the resthome resident about a new news story about a professor in his field who had had a lot of sexual harassment cases that broke out into the news all of a sudden, and the resident was saying how awful it was.

“Well,” I was like, “He was harassing men *and* women, so at least he was treating people equally.”

At that, our (older) (Nigerian) cabdriver broke out in a low chuckle, as we were driving down the highway, since he must have been listening to us.

Conversaton with a (Nigerian) coworker.

Last month at work, I stayed after my shift at the resthome in order to send off some emails on their desktop in the library that they have there.

Afterwards when I had finished and was heading out through the lobby to head out and go home, I bumped into my one (bulky) (Nigerian) coworker who works nightshift, who has hanging out there in the lobby and talking with the receptionist in some downtime between her duties.

"Hey [her first name]," I was like, "What's new?".

"New York, New Jersey, New Orleans, that's what's new," she was like.

We then chit-chatted some, and it turns out that she can't swim, and that back in Nigeria her parents were "traders," and they traded dried goods like beans and rice to the north of Lagos. 

"No vegetables," she was like, "They did not have refrigerated trucks like they have here."

Another overheard interchange at the resthome…

…when I saw my one (Nigerian) coworker bump into a(n African-American) caregiver who was just getting on shift:

“It’s been a long time,” he was like, immediately after they both said hello.

. . .

(I noticed that he said this to me a few months ago, after a period where I hadn’t seen him in a while – perhaps he’s translating into English some Nigerian greeting custom, maybe something from Yoruba?)

Observation of a (Nigerian) coworker.

The other week I was talking with my one (Nigerian) coworker at the rest home, and I asked him about what he missed about Nigeria.

He grew up in Lagos though his parents moved from a village for work, and he said it was the people outside all the time talking and catching up or playing football or other games, and here you just don’t get that, you go to work and you go to school and you go to church, and maybe in the summer you go to the beach.

Though, he admitted that they played a pick-up game of soccer with his church at the beach this summer, and it was great.

Our one (Mexican) coworker was with us when we were talking about that and she agreed with him about that difference, and she said that the same sort of things would happen back home in Mexico in the village that she grew up in.

“People play soccer, and they are so serious, they lose, one says to another, you cheat, and they fight”, she was like.

Comment of a (Nigerian) coworker.

The other week at the resthome, my one (Nigerian) coworker said that people in his country have been talking about whether their president has been replaced by a clone.

Basically, he went away to Britain for medical treatments for like four months and let the VP run things, and now he's back, and people are saying he's a clone.

"I do not think that is true, but that is what the people say," my one coworker was like.

He also said that this kind of stuff happens in Nigeria since you simply don't have the amount of press coverage that you do in the U.S.

"Here, they hide things, but the press looks, and they say more," he was like.

An observation about (Nigerian) vs. (American) culture.

Last month when I worked nightshift, the ongoing downfall of a local politician came up in conversation between me and my one (big built) (Nigerian) coworker who typically works nightshift.

"I wonder if he will commit suicide," she was like.

Then, she was like, "Probably no, if he is guilty, he will go to jail and come back," and then she said that in Nigeria, people fear jail, but not here, people go to jail all the time and come back all the time like it's normal, but in Nigeria, people do not want to go to jail.

"Are jails bad, or do you mean shame, like there's no shame to it?", I was like.

"Eh-heeeeeeeh," she was like, doing that (West African) affirmation sound that you hear sometimes. "Yes, exactly, there's no shame."

Comment of one resthome coworker, about another.

I've noticed that at some point every resthome coworker of mine bitches about every other resthome coworker of mine, saying that they don't do their work and so foist it onto everyone else.

I don't think that's true, but people still bitch.

The other week I overhead my one (female) (Mexican) coworker bitching about my one (male) (Nigerian) coworker.

"Look at him!", she was like, to someone else.  "He has all those muscles, but he doesn't use them!".

Resthome anecdotes (2 of 2): Surprise.

Also last month at the resthome, this one resident got back from the hospital, and so she temporarily had some (new) private aide there in her room 24/7 to help her.

And, the next time that I worked after she got back, that resident was on my list, and her aide called for assistance.

When I knocked and opened the door, the aide was (Filipina), and she saw me and was like, "You're a white guy."

. . .

(It was interesting; I told this to coworkers who were [Tibetan], [Nigerian], [Mexican], and [Filipino], and none got that she had said that because of how female and non-white the profession is, but the one [Mexican-American] frontdesk worker got what she meant right away, as did the one resident who's a retired school nurse... Maybe it's a race and sex perception thing that you have to be [native-born] [American] to get.)

...new neighborhood tidbits...

I love all the West African restaurants in my new neighborhood.

When a friend was in town for a sociology conference, me and her and another couple people went out to this Nigerian bistro a few blocks from my house. It's cafeteria style and very reasonable, and they have all these really modern-looking tables and chairs and hand-washing basins and mood lighting, and then everyone eats with their hands. The servers are also on African time, so one of my friends had to wait 20 minutes to get her meal plated up, even though it was cafeteria-style and most everything was ready... The server had to go to the back to get some trays of something-or-another, but then he switched trays, and when he put the meat in a dish, he put the tomato sauce on like a teaspoon on a time, though there was a ladle sitting right there.

Like that weekend, I went back to get a malt soda and use their free wi-fi on Sunday evening, and bunch of Nigerians were watching this American-Idolesque talent tryout for some BET show that had auditions in Lagos, and laughed uproariously at all the bad singers who were trying out.

Conversational Hausa.

The other month I was talking with the one (broad-built) (Ghanaian) kitchen manager about learning new languages, and he told me that he was wanting to learn Spanish.

I then asked him what languages he knew, and he said English and some French, and then when I asked him about African languages, he said Twi, Ga, and Hausa.

I hadn't heard of Ga before, but he assured me that it was indeed a language.

"And isn't Hausa more like northern Nigeria?", I was like.

"Yes," he was like, "But it's also in the north of Ghana."

Like the next time I saw him, I asked him some more about Hausa, and I mentioned that one of our (Nigerian) coworkers had learned some since he had studied in the north of Nigeria.

"So why did you learn Hausa?", I was like.

"I was on a soccer team in Accra with some guys who speak Hausa," he was like.

Psychoanalysis.

So, there's this one kind of smiley professor woman who advises the ministerial students, and she is always very upbeat and looks on the positive side of things, and yesterday when this guy was talking about Pentecostal churches in Africa, she chipped in that she was a psychotherapist, and she had this one Nigerian nun sent to her by her superior for personal issues, and she had the hardest time talking with her about herself because the nun kept being like, "Myself, what do you mean? I am a member of the church," and she wouldn't allow herself any identity outside of her official church identity, and her previous family identity, somewhat.

But, one day the nun came in and was like, "I had this dream," and she was all prepared to figure out what it meant for her. After that, the one smiley professor woman began to think that all the dreams and visions and spirits that many African Christians have in their daily lives is a way for them to talk about themselves as individuals in cultures that a lot of times don't allow for that.

...why I won't get internet at my new place...

I love going to the Nigerian bistro-style cafeteria to use their free wi-fi. Eff coffee and wi-fi, I want wi-fi and $3 worth of meat pies and friend plaintains.

Also, last time I was there, they turned the "OPEN" sign off, but still like there were 12 Africans just hanging out inside playing pool and chit-chatting and using the wi-fi too, and I stayed in there with them too no problem.

Spanish mistake at work last month.

Last month at work at the resthome, my coworkers weren't ready to get their staff meal yet and the kitchen staff wanted to know what was up, so I called each of them in turn over the walkie-talkie to ask if they wanted the fish or the chicken, but when I finally got to my one (skeptical) (Mexican) coworker, I decided to speak in (Spanish) and was like, "[her first name], que quieres, el pescado o la polla?"

And, right then I was turning to go to the buffet that was set up for the meal delivery, and my one (Mexican) coworker from the kitchen was standing there and so was the one (Nigerian-American) kitchen manager who speaks decent (Spanish), and they were both just standing there looking at me and their eyes were both huge, and my one (Mexican) coworker from the kitchen finally spoke and was like, "No no no, [the Spanish version of my first name], no."

Addendum Addendum.

I forgot about that Nigerian cafeteria -

The last time I was in there, as it was closing up, the counter girl, this (black) teenager with an American accent, must have been told in some African language (Yoruba?) by an older woman who works there (her mother?) to help get chairs from upstairs to take into the main dining room, because the woman spoke to her and she stood on the staircase that goes up from the main dining room, and then would shout instructions to her, and she'd yell them up to some guy upstairs, who'd then come down with a chair to give to her and she'd run down and give it to the woman.

In the midst of shouting, the woman said something in African, and the girl yelled up, "Yellow!", and then the woman yelled at her really severely, and the girl yelled up more loudly, "No, orange, I meant orange!", and you could tell that she must have been born here or come over at a young age and she must only speak the language a bit at home, if she confuses words for similar colors.

Resthome antics: A schtick at work.

The other week I was talking baby Spanish with the one (Mexican) kitchen worker who brings us the soup for the staff meal at the resthome, and the (first generation) (Nigerian-American) kitchen supervisor who seems just regular (African-American) joined in speaking Spanish with us for a bit, too.

I was quite floored, since I didn't know that she knew any Spanish.

After she left, I was talking more baby Spanish with the (Mexican) kitchen worker, and I joked that now we'll always have to say nice things when she's around, like how "[our supervisor's first name] es la mejor patron en todo el mundo" (i.e., "[our supervisor's name] is the best boss in all the world").

She picked up on that joke and said some similar comment too, in a voice that was a bit too loud, like if we wanted our boss to hear, but we didn't want our boss to know that we meant her to hear everything.

The next time our boss was around, then, I started up the joke again, asking in Spanish if our boss was listening, and then theatrically saying in Spanish in an overloud voice how great our boss is.

At that, my one (Mexican) kitchen worker smiled and laughed.

Ah, nice coworkers. Love them!