Work and Other Things (a series)

Decided that since there's so much going on with me and work and working in Nigeria which is ending up to be rather as dramatic as those first few years working in America, that I would start this series where I write about it. I have always written about work, as you may have gathered, my struggles about breaking into the corporate world in America, which no one here seems to appreciate. But since this is my starter kit to working in Nigeria, I'll start writing about my travails in this market as well. By the way, they are quite the same as working in America, just disguised with 3rd world mentality and relative prejudices.

Here's my first piece...

I think (one of) the hardest thing(s) about being the only female working with a group of men is having to hear them question your decisions, your statements. There's always that doubt at the end of your statement. "Are you sure?" "Have you checked with such-and-such?" Trying to cross-check your sources in order to validate your assertions. And at some point you start to question yourself, "Am I really sure?" "Did I check with such-and-such?" which in turn creates self-doubt and a great loss of self-confidence which rattles you to your professional core. Utterly disconcerting.

Before anyone says, this is your imagination. It's not because you're a woman. However, I observe the men, when they give advice, or make assertions in group, they never ask the other, "Well, are you sure?" That question never even crosses their mind. Instead they are met with, "That's a great idea," or "I agree completely." I wonder why...

---Being a working woman in Nigeria. #AnitaWrites

Arte Afrique...

At the start of summer 2017 I found myself attending a few art shows. I occasionally got invited to these art opening exhibits but never coordinated my time well enough to attend. It was summer, so I thought why not?

The Good:

There's a lot of art and artists in Nigeria. So much self-expression, subversive youths trying their loudest darnedest to be heard. And these art opening always seem to attract the crux of them. At some point, you find that if you fit into the mold you almost feel as if you don't belong in that space. What am I doing? Perhaps I should have a hair outta place, burn my bra, wear mismatched shoes, anything at all to seem rebellious as f*ck. Nevertheless they invited me so I came in to appreciate the art and listen to them express their unspoken words.

The Bad:

Tried my best not to compare these art shows with the lovely resplendent multi-faceted art shows I had the pleasure of attending in Atlanta, especially the Bill Lowe Friday evening openings (which I've chronicled on this blog). But those openings were superb beyond comparison, from the buffet food trays, chips, assorted dips, triangular cut sandwiches, and the cheap wine (which I criticized at the time). I hoped the Lagos events would have their own local African cultural flair. But by the second one I was indeed frustrated, exhausted from trying to appreciate art in the blistering heat. At the second showing at the Terra Kulture Gallery, there was a table set up with Louis Roederer bottles of champagne but guests were not allowed to partake in it for some odd reason or the other. I asked one of the artist participants and he murmured that I needed a coupon of some sort. I waited and waited and the coupon never showed up. Good enough because the exhibit room was scorching. It was scorching outside ordinarily but this is an art space we deserve to be well ventilated, to breathe clean air in a sparse space filled with pretentious, mildly amusing, basic art. At the first gallery - Omenka Gallery - a congealed stench filled the room, a combination of sweat, stale breath and damp clothing. In between pretending that I could continue to inhale the pungent odor, a guest spilled their orange soda on the floor and we all watched in dismay for about 30 minutes as the spill spread across the gallery floor forming its own expressionistic pattern. No gallery attendant rushed to wipe up the spill, and the artists stared at it as if it was indeed meant to convey some sort of art oomph.

The only saving grace (which didn't happen soon enough) occurred at the Temple Muse gallery, art curated by SMO Contemporary Art. There was maturity, organization and panache in the event and it reflected in the turnout. Rebellious student representation was kept at a low and adult bourgeois art-lovers were turned all the way up as well as the Louis Roederer which was generously poured to all attendees as we meandered through the space studying the eclectic pieces on display. It was a breath of fresh air, plus the space smelled divine. I appreciated the change of pace, and deeply conveyed my appreciation to the hostess. 

To close out the exhibits, was an opening at Red Door Gallery, which was nothing more than pop-art in space helmets, a self-indulgent showing by a young artist who I'm convinced was inspired by a Netflix binge watch of Star Trek. As far as the other art venues...there are no words except that which is expressed in this blog. 

Arte Afrique...we have a long way to go to take art to the level where it doesn't just express our nonconformance to societal niceties but instead shows our appreciation for beauty, nature and clean lines...it gives us a reprieve from societies chaos.