Happy birthday Akinola

My kid brother is 40 years today. It’s wonderful. As usual, when I rang to wish him happy birthday, he asked how it must feel for me knowing I’m that much older than he is. My answer this year is that I’ve no problem with that, as Moses lived 120 years.

I think he felt like I did when I turned 40, a mixture of joy, expectation and a little sadness at what he had not yet achieved. But I suppose it’s the same for everyone. I remember trying to hide, not wanting to celebrate, but when the surprise birthday was organised, I felt very proud and grateful that I was so loved.

That’s how you should feel too Akinola. Happy birthday. And you do have another 80 years don’t you? Get on with catching up on your achievements.

Half the year already!

You know how you get all those messages on the first of July wishing you a great second half of the year? I’ve got some of course. I was thinking a few days ago that the first is not really half the year. 31 days in January, 28 in February, 31 in March, 30 in April, 31 in May, 30 in June makes 181 days, and half of 365 is 182 and a half. Today, there are exactly 182 days to the end of the year, and 182 days preceding. So thanks to all those who have sent an early wish for a great second half of the year. I expect them to start rolling in from midday today. Now you wouldn’t know I failed my maths would you?

I wrote down my prayer requests for this year. To tell the truth, looking through human eyes, I’m pretty far from achieving them. Last year was one of the best years I’ve ever had, but this year has been really challenging, to put it mildly. I thought things were supposed to get better and better.

Thank God, I still trust and believe in Him. Too many times, I’ve read of how things didn’t look good, but God’s power shone through, made an impossible situation totally unrecognizable. So many have said how tough times are meant to help you grow; even Jesus said, when He looked at what would happen to Him, “if only this didn’t have to happen … but not My will Lord, Yours be done.” So, if I’m supposed to grow, what have I learned?

I’ve learned that what you see depends on what you’re looking for. I’ve watch two premier league managers give two conflicting interpretations of the same facts. Well, if you look for God in anything, He’s sure to be there. My mobile phone tells me that at 3.28 PM on 6 January, I received a text which began, “this is the word of the Lord for you Ifeolu Akintunde”. What the sender didn’t know was that I was sitting down, feeling really miserable when he sent it. It didn’t look like any of those forwarded texts, so I rang him and asked why he’d sent it. He said he was just praying over things in his life and the Lord asked him to send me a text. It was such an apt text too, so I poured my heart out to him, then prayed (and still do) that God would give him the reward of a faithful messenger.

If you have nobody to turn to, turn to God. Sometimes, I’ve found myself clinging to Him because my whole life and sanity depended on it. At the beginning, I read through Genesis. I was struck by how things began, and by how many principles come out there.

Take this one. When God has said something, even your actions can’t affect His word. Someone has said that Joseph was foolish in telling his brothers about his dreams, the ones where they would all bow down and serve him. But did that affect anything? The brothers sold him into slavery, then came bowing when he’d become prime minister of Egypt. Before him, Abraham had a promise. When he and his wife had waited and waited, she came and showed him her beautiful maid and said “you know what? I’m too old to have children, maybe God’s word will be fulfilled if you have children through my maid.” Well, Abraham did just that, but did that affect Sarah’s childbearing? It affected other things, but God’s word that Abraham and Sarah would have a child stood till she was 90 and he was 100, then it happened.

I’ve learned to be careful what I listen to. I’ve been through so many experiences that when people shared their own sorrows, my immediate response was “I understand what you’re going through”. But this year, I learned that “I understand” may sometimes be the precursor to giving human counsel, “this is what I did when it happened to me, do the same and it’ll work”. I finally understood that I hadn’t been through everything, and that there might be people who hadn’t felt the individual things I’d felt. So, what I want to hear now is not just “I understand” but also “this is what the Holy Spirit is saying in this situation”.

If you’re not a Christian, it’s fine to tell me your standpoint, but then, I’ll take it as your standpoint and give it the respect I give you. I have some great nonchristian friends whom I respect and love, and trust to be very honest with me. Some have talked wisely, and sometimes even confirmed what the Holy Spirit said. I too pray I’ll be the person who knows what the Holy Spirit is saying in any situation I’m confronted with, whether it’s mine or another’s.

I’ve also learned that IOA Consults is a one man show. When the one man isn’t running the show, the show isn’t running. If you thought I was a little slower than usual, I apologise sincerely.

And, even as we come to the end of the first half of the year, I’m praying for a tremendous turnaround in the second half, for myself, and for you all. A second half that is marked by God’s presence, demonstrated in the way only He can. And I pray that each Christian may be able to walk on water, do the things they would normally consider impossible, just because they heard the call of the Lord.

I’m awake now

Like everyone else, I’m waking up to the news. I tuned into the BBC World service this morning. Usually, when someone famous has died, it’s the last item on the news. This time, not only was Michael’s death first, it took half the news programme. Next item after Michael’s death was the arguments between Ahmadinajad and Obama over the Iranian elections.

I suppose I’m just like the newshounds, lapping up all information. I’m curious, what happened here? What caused the cardiac arrest? Was he in the middle of rehearsals?

Everything in the public domain suggests that MJ was already quite frail. Someone had said that it would be unwise to book for the last of his promised 50 shows. Apparently, if the 12th show was fully booked, the advice was not to book for show 13. He hadn’t done this in a long time; he’d appeared in court on several occasions in his pajamas; he looked frail in court; we knew all that. A rabbi who was his close friend and adviser said that MJ had a lot of emotional pain, and he transferred it to physical pain.

All over the world, people are waking up, or if they haven’t slept, mourning the loss of MJ. The BBC World Service have been reporting from Mumbai, Africa and of course the States. Everyone’s talking, including Quincy Jones, who produced Off the Wall, Thriller and Bad, Madona and one of his former wives, Lisa Marie Presley. The last time I was moved to blog on an event, we were all celebrating Obama. In a sense, all the worldwide traffic of information is suggesting an international event of similar proportions.

This morning, I heard Germain Jackson speak on behalf of the family. In an emotional voice, he narrated the official account and asked journalists to respect the family’s privacy. Will this happen? I remember there was an ABC helicopter over the hospital. I remember hearing on the BBC that Latoia was seen coming into the hospital in tears. Everyone is using words like iconic and phenomenal. Somehow I’m not sure that journalists will respect privacy. Ironic that all MJ wanted was his privacy. He even sang songs about it. Remember ‘leave me alone’ from the History album?

Akin always said he loved the fans but hated the press. He would know. You wouldn’t believe that he holds down a job as a lecturer in a top US university. He’s my source of all entertainment gossip, but when it came to MJ, he talked like he had personal knowledge. He talks about passing people to the back of Wembley, after they’d fainted; about the push to get into the stadium; about watching MJ perform some incredible moves, right in front of his eyes. He even talks about shows he hadn’t been to, in Tokyo, India, etc and how the fans gather when MJ is around. He talks about MJ’s house, friends, fan club, even about friends he’s made from the fan club. When he talks about perfectionism, he talks like it’s a personal thing. He’s explained to me why it takes 4 or 5 years for Michael to release a record; how many songs are discarded in the process; how his shows are designed to achieve the spectacular.

I thought I’d give him some time before ringing him for the full low down. It would be a long conversation, and I’m sure I need some skills in consolation. I won’t be surprised if he’s designated to day as a holiday.

My niece is in Manchester. She sent me an email to say MJ’s dead. I called the family she’s staying with. They report that everyone suddenly rushed to the telly when the news broke. My niece always fancied herself as some media figure and was heard to say that she had wanted to interview Michael. She’s only 13. MJ’s greatest hits were released long before she was born.

Now, they’re playing ‘She’s out of my life’. Akin tells me that every time he performed the song, MJ would break down in tears. You can almost hear his voice shaking as he sings the ending, ’she’s out of my life’. He’s out of our lives now. Or is he?

You see, I too love to hear about celebrities. Two things strike me here; behind every public personality is a private life. Pity that MJ’s private life was so bound up in his public persona that Akin can tell me so much about it. After all is said and done, and despite the public persona, MJ is just a man. But the second thing I’ve learned is that when you really love someone, it’s warts and all. All those fans gathering and mourning have heard all the stories, but the real fanatics will defend, or at the very least justify MJ’s actions. They replayed his announcement of the 50 O2 shows. You know what he said to his fans at the end? ‘I love you’. People say it was for the money, but I think that’s not entirely true. I think that like you and me, MJ craved the love. I think he wanted to put up the perfect show, release the perfect album, etc as gratitude for the unquestioning love that people showed to him. Whenever I have come across that kind of unquestioning love, I’ve also seen the reciprocity, the gratitude, the willingness to do everything for the lover. I know that this is my own ideal too.

So, where were you …

I suppose in several decades, people will be asking, “where were you when you heard that Michael Jackson had died”, just as they still ask about Kennedy and the others.

I’d come back home from a worship group meeting and to tell the truth, I was feeling bored and rather alone. Actually, I’d been thinking how long it had been since I last blogged. Earlier on, I’d been thinking I should write something about how memories shape our lives. It would have been very easy for me to write, but I wasn’t feeling up to writing.

So, there I was, quietly dozing in front of my computer when I got a call from my friend Yinka, whose husband is, apart from the font of all entertainment knowledge, a tremendous Jackson fan. Yinka is in the UK and she was talking to her husband who’s in the States when he interrupted her to tell her that Michael Jackson had just died. To Yinka, Michael Jackson is a great musician, but you can’t be married to Akin without being a fanatic. When we were younger, he used to tell me about attending MJ concerts in Wembley. In the 80s and 90s, it was pretty much an annual event, or maybe he repeated the stories that much.

So, I woke up and turned on the radio that sits near my computer. I know I can get pretty much every station on the net, but I can’t be bothered to search, when all I need do is press the ‘on’ button. And sure enough BBC 5live had interrupted their programming. It’s the rolling news and sports station. His death hadn’t yet been confirmed, but I heard about his cardiac arrest, he wasn’t breathing, he’d been rushed to UCLA hospital, TMZ online, and even the LA times website had announced his death, etc.

So, you all know that when I heard of MJ’s death, I was sitting in front of my computer, not particularly feeling like working, or even blogging. It’s just so sad, because while everyone talked about his lifestyle, his plastic surgery and skin pigmentation, and fans like Akin talk of his dancing and his music, the truth is that MJ was just a man. Ordinary men sometimes manage extraordinary feats. The Bible talks of Elijah as a man like us who commanded rain to stop and it stopped, then he commanded rain to start … and it did. And after he became famous, he suffered a crisis, much like MJ has suffered. But he recovered and went on to even greater things.

MJ was a really gifted man, much more than I appreciate. I heard of the news stories, of all the fame and his dancing. To be honest, I liked the music very much, and it was very clearly expressive, vibrant and sometimes really moving. But he wasn’t the best musician I’d ever heard. If you add the dancing, which those who see have always considered phenomenal, then he was a really great man.

Already, radio people are speculating about the cause of death; most agree it has to do with the pressure of fame. They’ve been talking about child abuse allegations, debt, his reappearance at concerts in the UK to raise money, etc. Honestly, it’s all a bit too much to digest right now. It’s the stuff you work out later, just like you did when you first started watching wall to wall descriptions of any tragic event; the death of a celebrity, (Elvis, Lennon, Princess Di, etc).

The 5Live programme contained ‘Billy Jean’ which reminded us all of his tremendous dancing and as I heard it again, I remembered how I felt that even as he sang, he seemed to be constantly in motion. I once remember doing a Billy Jean impression at a party just to make that point. It was given for MA students at my department. We were all in dissertation mode and welcomed the chance to let our hair down. I remember feeling very embarrassed the next day, strolling round the department of politics and someone walked past me, doing my Billy Jean impression.

At the end of the programme, 5Live played ‘One day in your life’ and it seemed such a poignant song.

Maybe I should go to bed and process the information tomorrow. I can then add it to my memory collection for that blog one day when I’m up to it.

This seems to have been a week for my friends’ weddings. A friend left the UK earlier on to attend her sister’s wedding, which took place in Nigeria on Saturday 18th. On the same day is the wedding of Ex Lancaster student, Dami. I gather several of her friends from Lancaster made their way to Joss to celebrate, just as they had done in Lagos at Lawunmi’s wedding on Easter Monday.

I couldn’t get to any of those, but I was at Seun and Tunji’s wedding. I’m writing on the train back to Lancaster, having just had a most wonderful time in Barrow-In-Furness. This small town has just been Nigerianised for the weekend. I wonder what all the hotelliers made of the invasion. I didn’t get the chance to find out, being one of the lucky ones who stayed with someone. On the small train from Lancaster to Barrow, I heard unfamiliar Yoruba voices, and I was quite sure that we were all going to the same place. That was Friday afternoon, and I went early to be at the letter exchange.

That was a real privilege. It’s a family thing, but the Overseas Fellowship of Nigerian Christians in Lancaster is a family, and after all, Seun’s dad was past Area Secretary. Plus, I had the official job of playing the piano, playing whatever song came to someone’s head, in whatever key they happened to be in at that particular time. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know half the songs they sang. Some of these songs are quite distinct and what they would sing in Ondo (where I’m from) would be quite different from the Egba and Egbado songs that flowed, or perhaps I’ve been away so long, I don’t know the songs anymore .

For those non-Africans who are not familiar with this, it has been called several names, but it is just one of a series of celebrations which may or may not take place in a Nigerian wedding. I should really try to describe what happened yesterday, but must warn that this isn’t what happens in all cases.

We were all happily listening to music in the hall, as the family of the groom gathered themselves outside the door. They were stopped by a lady, whose role was to pretend to be as formidable as possible. Having asked what they were doing, and been told that they’d come to deliver a very important letter, she kept them waiting outside and came to consult on whether to let them in. Eventually, they were allowed in, and their spokeswoman introduced the “very top members of the family who had come to deliver this important letter”. Her role is to be as expansive as possible. If her story is to bee believed, Tunji and family were at their morning devotional, when, during the praise and worship session, Tunji started singing songs about Seun. When he was asked what was happening, he made it abundantly clear that he’d met this girl, and the whole family must do something about this immediately. Never mind that the date for this event was set months in advance. Anyway, this beautifully decorated letter has to be presented to the bride’s family, and read publicly by someone. Again, the language is very adjectival, the sort of letter where 20 words would adequately do the job of 5 words. Apparently, there’s a lovely flower that Tunji had been admiring all this time and when he enquired, he found it belonged to this particular garden. His family members, knowing the wellbred, intelligent son they have are so honoured that he’s found such a beautiful (more words) girl, etc. Would Seun’s family do them the honour … you get the message.

Our formidable bride’s minder then tells the groom’s family that further consultation is required. In this case, the grandmother has to be consulted in Nigeria; the plane bringing the Nigerian envoy has been delayed, but it appears that there is good news on its way.

Well well! Let’s bring the bride in then! Only it’s the wrong lady. This isn’t the girl we expected they cry, she’s taller than the one we know. Ok, we’ll try again. It’s all very good humoured bullying of the groom’s family. It took me back to the last time I was at one of these, in 2001 when my brother got married. I think he was laid prostrate more times than he was up. And I know my brother doesn’t do much of these ceremonies. I was thinking the other day that when I get married, I couldn’t have any other best man but my brother. For one thing, he’s the one I trust most to understand me. For another, I can count on his organisational skills, sharpened by respect and brotherly love. But I’d politely ask him to delegate the best man’s speech to someone else. That is unless the guests don’t mind being treated to a one minute speech, delivered at breakneck speed.

Oh I didn’t think he liked that bit very much, but he had to bear it., But where was I before I started to wander. Yes, it’s all very good natured; although I have heard of stories where the humour broke down after a while. The groom’s family couldn’t take it anymore. On This occasion, the fact that both families are committed Christians and had developed a relationship during preparations meant that they probably had some sort of agreement beforehand. What should normally happen is that if the groom has an equally good negotiator, the audience will be laughing all the way. On this occasion, the groom’s family informed us they could have come with a cityload of family members, but for home office restrictions. I can imagine British Home Office staff at all major points of entry, ticking off names on the list and then informing other Adeoguns of how sorry they were that although this was such a big occasion, they just couldn’t let the city in.

. We had a great time, more food, more music, family introductions from both sides, words of advice, all that sort of thing.

On Saturday morning, we were in church for the wedding. I worked with Idrees, who normally plays the keyboards, but had to go to the drums, because I couldn’t play anything else. And Philip on congas, and Uche and wife accompanying me on vocals. And there was this fantastic 17 year old guitarist I met for the first time on Friday. I spoke to him onthe phone in the morning, and he sounded so quiet and so unsure, but when he picked up the guitar and started to play, … He played on Friday as well, but it was really hard, because we were always chasing songs after someone had started, always looking for keys. Today was different, we knew what we were doing, and he sure did know how to play. We did some hymns, and then we took them through some praise, Nigerian style, as the bride and groom went to sign the register. Even singing and playing the keyboard, I was moving. A friend had once said how he liked to watch me during praise and worship, playing the keyboard and dancing on my seat. By the time we finished, I was sweating. Idrees on the drums just kept pounding the beat, Eniola on the lead guitar was playing great solos, and I was just enjoying myself tremendously. Such fun shouldn’t be allowed, really.

Then, it was time for the reception. British weddings have a small reception, only for family and friends. I now know why this is the case. When Seun and family were looking for a venue, they discovered that most venues were reasonably priced, until they were informed by each in turn that the venues provided catering and the charge was a set amount per plate. I’m sure that most people at this point begin to count the number of people they’d be inviting to the ceremony. After they’d protested that good as their chefs were, they’d require specialist knowledge to prepare Nigerian food, they simply found a school hall, decorated it and set to work preparing Nigerian food..

It worked beautifully. After we’d eaten and eaten, the live band kicked in and we danced. Well, the others did. A Rwandan friend, Shani, who had been in Lancaster till about 2002/2003 dragged me onto the dance floor. I danced a bit and met up with Seun and Tunji. Seun said to me in Yoruba to get really dancing, so I tried even harder. But after a while, I got back to my seat, and nobody could bring me out again. I prefer dancing on my seat.
To all my friends getting married in the last week, I pray you have a really wonderful married life.

Flying is a strange experience isn’t it? If I’m flying long distance at night, all I can hear is the sound of the engine, everyone’s asleep or watching something. Sometimes, you can’t even feel the plane moving. It feels like I’m in a really wide cage, with loads of silent people, and a humming sound all around me … isn’t that what it really is if you can’t do anything but go to the loo, watch a video or go to sleep?

I travel a lot by train, and by coach, and by car, but those all feel different. Somehow, you feel you’re more in control. In a car you can tell the driver to stop at thenext service station; with a coach or train, just wait till the next official stop and get off. The truth is, as far as I’m concerned, aeroplanes force me to rethink my logic. The pilot talks about flying 30000 feet, as though that’s the most natural thing in the world? Is it? Then, my logic would say that when you’re flying, smaller things should feel more secure than bigger things, and yet, I always feel more secure in those huge planes than in the much smaller ones. But the biggest challenge to my logic is turbulence. How different is it from a potholed road? Yet, having traveled on many or these, I notice that drivers slow down when approaching a pothole. Aeroplanes don’t seem to. You feel this jarring and wonder why the piolot Is still moving at the same speed, or sometimes you even feel him moving faster … yet you bope he isn’t planning to slow down, in case that means more trouble.

I remember when I was a teenager, on one of my first long distance flights, we were going through some turbulence, perhaps over North Africa. My dad, as calm as a scientist, (which he is) was telling his frightened children that air travel was the safest form of travel. He said that the most difficult times were during takeoff and landing, and there was absolutely no problem, no matter how turbulent the flight felt. Of course, being my dad, I tried very hard to believe him, but I’m still not sure how convinced I was then. I’ve had two pilot friends confirm those words and tell me that even the smallest plane can withstand an enormous amount of turbulence. And I’ve watched enough programmes on discovery wings. So against my own logic, I actually believe this now. In any case, I can feel it when a plane is taking off. First, there’s the speed, then you feel the plane rising. Sometimes, I can feel the pilot willing the plane higher and higher, and all the force pushing the plane up from underneath. You can tell, much more than when a plane is in mid-flight, that should that force give, you’re going straight down.

Somehow, maybe because we’re close to our destination, I prefer landing. After the turbulence of going through the clouds, the pilot slows the plane, the tyres come out, and then you land. I even play a game, trying to guess the exact moment the plane will touch the tarmac. Then, you feel the speed, and the force. Maybe the pilot is applying the brakes, the engine is so very loud. Then the plane is slowing and just coasting till it reaches the gate. Mobile phones are coming on and people are telling their relatives that they have landed.

I was thinking these thoughts the other day as we flew in one of those smaller planes. I was also thinking of those days in the 80s, (maybe it still happens) when, if a flight had been particularly rough, the passengers would clap heartily as the plane landed. These was just an ordinary flight, just the odd bump as we flew, but nothing to worry about. We were preparing to land, the wheels had come out. Then, suddenly, with a scream of engines and accompanying movement, we were going up … and up … and up again. When we were stable at cruising altitude, the captain made an announcement. His tone was so soft that I didn’t catch what he said, except that we would now be landing in about 25 minutes.

It might have been all in a day’s work for him, but as I don’t fly every day, it was just a little disconcerting. That, and an incident on a flight a few days before had convinced me that pilots have nerves of steel. It was a very small thing really. I was on another small plane and the flight attendant had come over to me to go through the safety procedure. There was a pilot on his dayoff, sitting on the other side of the aisle from me. He said in such a calm voice to the flight attendant, “if there’s any trouble, I’ll look after him”. First, I prayed there would be no trouble, then I marveled at how he’d spoken as though I was a child going on a walk and he was going to make sure I didn’t hit my foot on a stone. He was so calm and assured that if I was ever in any danger, I wouldn’t have trusted any other human to look after me.

I had a friend who was once cabin crew for a Nigerian airline. She told me about how they were constantly trained and examined to ensure that they could face any danger. When you see them serving food and drinks, never forget that these people are brave beyond belief. We’ve heard of two incidents recently where planes were crash landed without loss of life … one was in Heathrow and the other on the Hudson river. Both pilots said in a matter-of-fact way that they were just doing their duty. This is my salute to all cabin crew and flight crew. Well done.

Special! I’m in real trouble this time. My niece turned 13 today, and I didn’t ring her.

It’s a good thing she’s turned 13 now. All last year, I never stopped hearing of how difficult it is for preteens. So, I’m sure it will be much easier for her now that she’s crossed that milestone … did I just hear all parents of teenagers laughing?

It’s no excuse to say I tried really hard to reach her all day and failed. She’d never know if it was true, … it really is.
Mind you, last week, (on 1 March) IOA Consults turned 1 year, and I was going to write a short note about it, but didn’t. So, at least I’ve done better with my niece’s birthday than I did with my company. Just about.

Happy birthday K. I’ll have tomake it up to you somehow, and I know I’ll never hear the last of this anyway. But I did try, promise.

“Love always leaves a significant mark” The Shack.

“Most birds were created to fly. Being grounded for them is a limitation within their ability to fly, not the other way round … You, on the other hand were created to be loved. So for you to live as if you were unloved is a limitation, not the other way round.” The shack.

I’m still reading this book, and I read this, just this morning. How interesting.

It’s a great thought for Valentines day, but as the book is about God’s love … perhaps it’s an even better thought for Valentines day.

Have a great day.

So, it’s your birthday! And not just any ordinary one, you’re forty. I dare not mention your name, or you’ll happily kill me. And nobody will know it was you, they’d think it was Marzik, or Lingani or any of your other aliases.

Marzik! That was one of my names wasn’t it? Remember those characters we created in secondary school, when the others were reading or playing football, or doing something useful. The object of the game was that you’d set a trap, give my character superhuman powers, and I was supposed to escape, or achieve something. In most cases, it was you that gave me the clue to escape, or achieve, or whatever we were doing. Lingani was yours, remember that letter? And you denied it until I asked you in England … but I always knew it was you. You don’t fool an old friend that easily. We’d played too many games for that, I knew your style.

And then, when we got older and I visited your house with supermodel. Your mum started having a go at you, telling you that Ife now had a girlfriend, and what were you doing? And now, it’s you getting married … and me? Tell your mum you won that too. She’d be proud of you, just like I am.

She’s a lovely girl by the way, your soon-to-be wife. I spoke to her several times, and she couldn’t stop talking about you. When I first heard you were getting married, my first thought was “How did she find you, underneath all those layers”. But she did, and now she’s discovered what all the others missed, what warmth lies beneath the many skins, if only they could peel with persistence.

I so wish I could make it to your wedding. I know how you hate these ceremonies. I’d have had a great laugh. And you went and picked Valentine’s day. I can’t help thinking it was well picked, so you’ll have one less ceremony to think of. Even now, I still can’t stop laughing, like we always do. I once told someone that even if I hadn’t spoken to you for a year, we’d talk for hours on the phone and laugh heartily, as though we’d never stopped talking.

I’m so glad I got beneath that first layer. You know, that quiet one with understated superintelligence. The one that gets animated when discussing serious topics, logic, current affairs, or anything else with your very special slant. You’d never think that top layer could laugh, but when you heard the laughter, , you’d wonder when it would ever stop. One day, in 1998, when I’d hoped to get married, we were sitting in your living room, when you read your goals for the year. One of it was to do everything to make my wedding great. I just sat there stunned, thinking, “that’s how highly he thinks of me” and you said it in such a matter-of-fact way, as though it was absolutely nothing to give yourself so fully to my cause.

Remember how in KC you used to be the first to sleep? You were supposed to teach me maths on the day before O levels, and you went to bed at juniour’s lights out. And it wasn’t even laziness, because you invariably got better grades than anyone else (oh, I forgot, I’ve been banned from mentioning how clever you are). How different things are now. I know that I can call you at any time of the night, and you’d be at your computer.

Oh those aliases again, they’ll soon come and get me for all the infringements I’ve committed. How do you manage to be so creative? Your blog isn’t even in your name. It tells the story of several people in a bar. One would even think you were a regular,constantly exchanging drunken banter with pretend intellectuals, … but I know you better than that.

I pray you have a great birthday and a wonderful wedding. And when you celebrate your 40th wedding anniversary, I pray you’re looking forward with great pleasure to the next 40 years. That’ll make you 120, like Moses. You knew that of course, knowing isn’t the issue, it’s believing.

Thanks for never judging me, for accepting my weaknesses and encouraging my strengths. And thanks for the long talks. Sometimes, we were doing the intellectual stuff, sometimes, just laughing like kids. But whatever we were talking about, whatever we were doing together, we always had fun. Even climbing those mountains in the Lake district, doing the scary rides on Blackpool Pleasure Beach, walking through busy London streets, etc.

He’s waking up this morning to discover he’s President! How must Barack Obama feel this morning?

OK, everyone’s said it, so I might as well. This is history making. At first, I tried to ignore all the chatter, wondering why everyone was talking about a foregone conclusion. First, it was the run-off between him and Hilary. That was close, but it’s America, why should I bother? Whatever happened, it would make history. It would either be the first woman president or the first black one. When Barack won, we all knew he’d be president, but that didn’t stop all the heated discussion.

And then, I was awake at about 4 AM British time one November morning, listening first to the gracious speeches of the republican contender, and then his acceptance speech. And on and on, I heard the refrain, “yes we can”. By the end of that speech, I was no longer sleepy; I was probably shouting with the rest of them, “Yes we can!” A sign of my deliberate lack of interest, (or should I say ignorance) is that I’d never heard that before, nor experienced the thrill of the congregational respons.

It was then that I somehow moved from being the intellectual observer to the convert. But convert to what? As you might have gathered, I’m one of the few who didn’t know enough about him. It’s a part of my rebellious nature that when everyone is talking about something, I don’t.

When we say with our new American president “yes we can!” what are we subscribing to? He certainly talks a good talk. You only need to hear him speak. And I really believe that that’s half of any battle. You don’t have to do much if you can persuade everyone else to do it. But you need to have clear ideas. We all chanted loftily because we were told about an election that was fought and won on totally different rules to the norm. So, we know that he’d like to lift the poor, the unappreciated, those who wouldn’t normally have the chance. Where did all that come from?

OK, I confess I haven’t read his book; and it’s a great achievement that AMerica now has a president who wrote a bestseller before he became president. But I have heard things; I have heard that he’s the first black president of America. That’s interesting. His father is Kenyan, his mother white. He was raised by his grandma, who by all accounts was a middle class white woman. You see, I’m not so ignorant as to have missed her sad death, just before the elections. She would have been so proud. But why do we all think he’s black then? I would have called him mixed race, but my sister (who lives in America and knows about these things) says that once you have a drop of black in you, you’re considered black. In my intellectual way, I’d thought, if he was raised by his grandmother, he’d have been taught to be white. Remember I haven’t read the book. If my sister is right, then the race debate in America is more clear-cut than here. Here, people would be talking about how he’d be trying to find his identity in mixed cultures.

But surely he’s not as black as that, or even as African, or is he? We keep hearing of Kenyan villagers who are sure that development is coming to their country because our president’s dad is one of them. It must be great that he didn’t change his name. Nobody who hears that name will think he’s white. But this man is surely American, despite his name. I hear he is a technology loving man with a wife who bears the unKenyan name of Michelle and that they have two children with cool American names. In fact, I just learned that he’s a true American president, following on a line since Bill Clinton, who have brought only daughters to the Whitehouse. And did I hear the name Harvard mentioned in connection with him?

Now that I have to admit that he’s probably black after all, it may even follow that he is likely to care for the downtrodden. He’s already making the right noises. But how much will he change Africa. We know he says he’ll change things in Iraq, perhaps the middle East. But his father is from Kenya. And in any case, in those areas where I’m not so sure, will he leave matters to mrs Clinton? Now, there’s someone who fought the elections in the conventional way, and most people say that with her, it’ll be just like politics was always conducted in Washington.

I confess I’m now looking forward to 8 years of the Obama presidency. And I do think that a man with his intellect and oratory will certainly get things done, or persuade people to do the things he wants done. I’m even thinking that some of the things I know he wants to do are great. Actually, I’ve become part of the 80% approval rating for Obama. It’s so refreshing, after the past 8 years. I never thought I’d get there. But now, I join with you all over the world and wish Barack Obama very well indeed. I used to wonder why we all got so excited about the American presidency, but today, I’ll be glued to the radio or telly, listening with some friends to him swear his oath, and looking forward to another stirring speech.

And after that? well, what you feel for anyone is less intellectual and more emotional. I think I’m going to enjoy liking this president for the next 8 years, unless he does something spectacularly bad. And from first impressions, that looks unlikely.

“Yes we can!” Actually, “Yes I can!” I can look forward to a different American presidecy. And maybe his success can encourage me too in my own quests.