WEDDINGS, BRIDAL TRAINS, AND BEST MAN DUTIES

Featured Image: Ablad and Vero

Remember, Saturdays are for owambes, especially weddings. It is only fitting that we toast to the weekend by reminiscing on weddings and the thing with bridal trains which brought about me engaging in some Groomsmen and Best Man duties. In fact, this is what set the tone for my (unfinished) web series which I titled Best Man Duty.

Before we dive in, I’d like to heartily congratulate my newly wedded cousin, Biodun Adekanmi, the one we call Ablad, and his beautiful wife Veronica. May this phase of your lives come with plenty blessings.

Requests came from my friends in the early 2010s to be part of their bridal trains as Groomsmen. Why won’t it be so? I was one of the most eligible bachelors at the time so it was no surprise. Sometime in February 2012, Pastor Sogo got hitched and it was a whole team of SPAC young men. The designation for that epoch-making occasion was Men of Honour, which was the trio of Abot, Emmanuel Utulu and me. It was fun, but I had to run back to work that evening to run the fifth day of my night shift.

After that, I more or less became a professional Groomsman and Best Man. A few events here and there, with great memories that have refused to fade. Being on the same Bridal Train has given me friends too.

2013 December, I had a busy December. To be specific, there was a wedding for me to attend each Saturday that month. Of the four, I attended three; of the three, I was one of the Groomsmen at one, the Best Man at the second and a friend/family of the couple of the third. While I would have enjoyed being one of the Groomsmen at Benjamin Igboekwu and the adorable Florence, the professional commitment that meant I needed to be at work that night robbed me of all the fun my ‘men’ had planned.

The following week, I was my buddy’s Best Man. This was a wedding we planned together and if you have read my Best Man Duty series, the Church setting was inspired by this particular wedding. It was the kind of wedding where there was no Bridal Train except for the Ring Bearer, Little Bride and the Best Man and Chief Bridesmaid.

Some months later, I was back on Best Man Duty when another of my buddies got married. There I met the beautiful Dayo Alajiki, the Chief Bridesmaid. Dayo is my muse for Cynthia in Best Man Duty. Those hours we spent supporting our friends to get married laid the foundation for the friendship we have today. We don’t get to interact every day these days because of the demands of adulthood but we remain very cordial. One of us would hit the other up occasionally and we would have mentally-stimulating conversations. Back in the day, we would chat all through the night whenever we were both on the night shift. She would have been a love interest had I not known that she was committed to another. Despite that, we both know how to draw laughter from each other and that made us look forward to conversations.

In the same year, my mate from part of primary school and the other part of high school, Tunji Jaiyeola, also put me on his bridal train. As a matter of fact, it was on his wedding day that Best Man Duty started, first as one or two episodes, then I expanded it and it got acclaim so I kept writing till life happened and I could not keep up or end it the way I wanted to.

I feel old these days and when I see folks on the Bridal Train do the things I and my people did back then, I just smile and remember how it was when my ‘set’ also actively took part in Bridal Train duties. How the babes would dress to impress, and sometimes overdo that they end up looking like masquerades. I also remember how the guys would walk with different types of ‘shakomended’ posings, possibly to catch the attention of the babes and all.

Link-ups happened o, let us not lie. Some ended well and some ended ‘very well’. Some ships sailed but some caught fire before they could sail at all. It is part of life, and part of the process.

Today, I took a look at the ‘Ladies in Wardrobe’, as friends of the bride are called these days and I knew they were having the time of their lives. Perhaps, there could be one or two who will write the perfect story, you know those stories about their wedding starting from meeting at a wedding.

Let me go to bed after the exertions of the last 24 hours plus which saw me go to Ikorodu to ‘pluck a beautiful flower’. Meanwhile, I love love stories and I am looking for one like that since I cannot write mine that way again. Over to you Nifemi *picks race*

TIME AT THE LEBANESE ENCLAVE – Broiler Brouhaha and The Exit

The five pens we called B.B1 changed name to Broiler Unit 6. All of us who were shipped to the Broiler department approached that stage with uncertainty. This was due to the major fact that we were coming from a place where we were given rest of mind to get our ‘hard’ tasks done to another place where they carried simple work as if it was more than that.

Like they say, “When in Romans, you act like Romans”. We gradually aligned with the system of operation in that department and unit. The people lived and worked with their hearts in their mouths, which was strange to those of us just coming from Broiler Breeder. Our boss at the old department would allow you to express yourself and work without unnecessary issues but we were constantly watching our backs at this new place.

This was where work became a hard sport. I no longer looked forward to going to work because I was unsure of what problem we would have to settle. I worked with a boss who was not as charming as the initial one and while it was no problem because I did not go to the place to make friends with the boss, it sort of affected my output.

“You guys should be up and doing. I don’t want that girl saying different things to me or insulting me because of you.”

I don’t know how he copes these days but the guy lived in constant fear of Hanna and that was enough to piss one off. I wondered how the people who had worked with him before we joined them coped with that kind of toxic environment. Much as I wondered, I understood that they had very little choice because jobs were hard to come by.

The comfort for me in all of these challenges was that there was an exit plan in place for me already. I have had the good fortune of having great people in my corner and this made it easy for me to plan my exit. As I stepped into the Lebanese enclave on 1^st March 2010, I had a plan to stay for a maximum of five years and God Almighty was kind enough to make this happen.

Yesterday, I was narrating to my Dad how Hanna called me an illiterate one day. As calm as I can be, I almost lost it. What happened? She was looking for a particular thing, a part of one of our pressure machines which we use in washing out pens after production. The same thing she was looking for had been taken away to another unit but she would not listen to anyone. Next thing, she started screaming.

“Yalla Seye, come here. Where is the washing machine gun? Where is it? You cannot look for it? Why are you all like this?”

She was shrieking, screaming, shouting, and just raving like someone who had lost it all. I could not even answer.

“Yalla! I used to think you are different. You are an illiterate like the rest of them. Illiterates!”

I just kept quiet and walked away. She came around the following afternoon and greeted me. I ignored her greeting and she started grumbling. I picked part of her words.

“I don’t know why they all do as if I am wicked. I am not a witch. They are all lazy”

Her terrible attitude had no boundaries. She had instilled the same fear in Managers too so it was not as if it was only Attendants and Supervisors that suffered. From 2010 to 2014, I never heard my former boss call me names or insult us. He had times when he got angry but he would not use insulting words on us. If that happened behind my back, it means nothing to me because I did not hear it directly. I wish Hanna and the direct bosses who work with her could try a different approach with those working with them instead of making them fearful and distraught with work. They just work to earn their pay, not that they are committed or see themselves as a part of the main thing happening in their units.

My exit was planned for December 2015 and I was eagerly looking forward to it. The last six months were even more challenging. On Saturday in August, I had finished my shift and was about to leave when my Manager came and said I could not go because “Iya is in a foul mood”. The word ‘Iya’ is one he uses for Hanna sometimes. I could not make sense of it. Why would I not leave my shift because Hanna was angry? Did I not do what was expected of me?

I obeyed and stayed back but it was frustrating. I knew Hanna was not behind my delay but my Manager was just being mischievous. All that is in the past but I became even more fed up at that time. It made me wonder what people who had been in the department for years had gone through. If I who joined in less than six months could complain this much, these people would have accepted it as their fate. Some of those who were to be sacked from the Broiler Department were absorbed by my old boss who would ensure that their challenges with that department did not put them out in the already saturated job market.

Those six months from June to December had me working every day of the week but I had my goal in front. The finish line was smiling at me so I endured. The stress got to me and I broke down a day to Sallah in 2015. I had to leave work and go back home. My Oga did not reach out until the following morning, and all he asked was if I would be able to make it down to work. That was the final straw for me. I knew The Almighty had plans for me to leave that place, and everything was working in that direction.

My exit was carefully planned over eight months. I was to join up with my friend who we partnered together with a family member to start our Agribusiness. When it was time, I just applied for my annual leave and took a bow. My Oga called me that it was time to resume but I told him I was out of town, to resume a few days later. On that day, I came with my resignation letter.

Oga said it did not come as a surprise but I knew he was jolted. I served him that letter in front of the Central Store and left with my head held high. If need be, I can easily walk into the Lebanese Enclave today because I left on good terms with nearly everyone. Although some will not like us still but we stay doing our thing in our way.

Oh, I met Hanna at the Ring Road Mall one day and she paused to see if I would say hello. I looked her in the eye and walked past her. I don’t do pretence abeg. If you’re a rubbish person, waka your own make I waka my own. I also met with my immediate boss at the wedding of one of my people, Kemi Rukayat, I said hello. While he has his wahala, I see him as a victim of whatever it is that is disturbing him and many others who fear where the next meal will come from. I remain cordial with many people whom I met in the course of my five-year journey at the place, and I still see many of them as family.

Tomorrow, weddings, bridal trains and Best Man Duties…

TIME AT THE LEBANESE ENCLAVE – A Close Shave and The Unexpected Movement

Featured Image: Farmers Academy

Work started again after the boys were cleared. As previously noted, it felt like a Tsunami but life had to go on.

There is this spot along Seven-Up Road in Oluyole Estate, for those familiar with Ibadan, the city where I have lived most of my years. This was the spot where my life flashed before my eyes sometime in October 2014.

We had closed that evening after the afternoon shift. Sallah was the following day and the excitement was palpable. People had trooped into town to celebrate the massive festival but for those of us in my line of work, you can’t even put any celebration on the front burner. Of the five or six Christmases that I worked in that place, it was only once that I had the opportunity to celebrate the way I normally would. For the first two years, I was on the afternoon shift which meant I would resume at 2 p.m., when the celebration was about to start, and close at 9 p.m., when the annual celebration would be almost ending.

So much for the digression, we closed that evening and Ayodeji Olasanoye, one of the guys who was on my shift would take me on his motorcycle and drop me at Mobil or Challenge. We were moving on the ever-terrible Seven-Up Road and were almost opposite the IBEDC office when he increased his speed to beat the truck in front. He took the right side and was almost connecting the main lane again when the motorcycle’s tyre slipped and we ended up on the floor. Now, everything happened in a flash and I found myself in front of the truck which was approaching while Ayo was under the truck.

Alarms were raised, and I smelt death. People around that scene shouted for the truck to stop. By then, I was up on my feet, with no scratch but I screamed, calling Ay’s name. The next thing I remember saying was “Ha! Ayo ti ku (Ha, Ayo is dead). This I was saying while standing in the middle of the road. Unconsciously though, I moved to the side and tried to look under the truck that had now stopped.

Like a bolt out of the blue. No! Like a shark that was prodded out of the water, Ay burst out from under the truck and said “Oga, mi o ku!” (Boss, I’m not dead). I touched his arm and cloth and looked at him, looking for any sign of what I did not even know. Ayo looked at me and we both burst out laughing while I went to pick the seat that had been flung to one side, he brought up the motorcycle. Collecting the seat from me, he placed it on the machine, started the engine, and asked me to get on it. We sped off again before any pity party could gather.

That was a very close shave. It felt as if I was seeing a movie. A few weeks later, news broke about the death of one of my Wesley College of Science mates, Powell Omeke—such a cool guy who was as brilliant as he was calm. I was told that he was in a vehicle accident, and I instantly remembered how I was spared.

As if that was not enough, another incident took place within a month. I was on the night shift and Abraham Ojedeji, one of my Team members came to raise the alarm that one of our pens was likely going to collapse. It was scary because I was in the office beside the pen. This was some minutes before four o’clock in the morning. As you try to open the pen door, the industrial fan will suck in air that will shake the weak sides of the pen. I sent a S.O.S message to the Electrical department guys and they arrived in a flash.

One of the expats, an Indian guy called Manoj also quickly reached out to the General Manager while I called Mr. Taiwo. We were able to bring the situation under control as the electrical guys disconnected the pen. It was a Sunday night shift and I was working two straight shifts which meant that my resumption at 9 p.m. on Sunday would first end at 7 a.m. on Monday while I continue the next shift and close at 3 p.m.

The pen was evacuated but I had a feeling that everyone felt something was wrong with me. I almost started thinking that way to if I would be honest. From the burglary to a major disappointment on a personal level after some weeks and now to a collapsing pen when I was on the shift. I am sure anyone would have assessed the situation and drawn the same conclusion too.

Well, a major reorganization took place three weeks later and five of our nine pens were returned to the Broiler Unit while staff were also moved on in the merry-go-round. I was again on the night shift and could not fight my case so I was one of the two Supervisors that were shunted out to the Broiler Department. Amos Adeleke, one of my able lieutenants was one of the attendants that were redeployed. There were others too that I cannot remember again.

Now, it was us being moved from the comfort of the Broiler Breeder unit to the Broiler unit where they were always put under pressure. Every leader has their style and I would not expressly condemn anyone but I liked one of my Managers than the other. And of course, there was now the unavoidable interaction with Hanna, the female Lebanese Manager whose modus operandi was not one most people wanted. She was that one who would talk down on people and try to instill fear or compliance.

Hanna always acted like someone who was born and brought up in a Concentration Camp. It was all yelling and complaining, she hardly ever praised anyone. On the rare occasions that she was impressed, she would send the Manager to give something to the boys which Oga did. I hardly saw her interact with subordinates, and if she would chat with Managers, it was officious, at least from where I was seeing things.

And of course, there was the Manager who always melted like a jelly that is placed inside the sun anytime Hanna yells. This was different from my former Manager who would call her bluff anytime she overstepped her bounds like she tends to do.

Remember, these posts are meant to be no-holds-barred so I will throw shades and may even be more specific. No apologies at all.

Tomorrow, I will let you into my final year working in the Lebanese enclave. How I fared under Hanna and her management style, working with a new set of people and other interesting stories.

The 28-day challenge has morphed into a memoir. It will go back to something else again before we end it in 7 days.

You don’t wanna miss it!

TIME AT THE LEBANESE ENCLAVE – Broiler Breeder Man

Featured Image: India Mart

When I always talk about my opinion that no one human being is self-made, it is because I am sure someone might have put in a word for another person at one time or the other. This is why I remain eternally grateful to Baba and Mama Adegboyega for making that call to Uncle Soji Arimoro in February 2010. That set the tone for my first major employment.

Uncle Soji took me to Zartech Limited on February 17^th, 2010, and I took an assessment test for employment. I was graded and told to resume on the first day of the following month. The days in between flew by very fast, and from being almost an employee at Obasanjo Farms, I became one at Zartech.

I reported for duty on March 1^st as instructed and waited to be deployed to the department where I would work. After waiting for a few hours, the Personnel Manager approached Mr. Elias, the General Manager who immediately stopped the man he was speaking to.

“Alhaji Taiwo, take your man and go,” he said, pointing to me. “He is your new Supervisor.”

That was the beginning of my five-year sojourn at the Lebanese-owned agric firm, one of the biggest names in the Agribusiness space in Nigeria.

Mr. Taiwo took me straight to the department where I was introduced to the men on the ground. Mr. Kunle Ogunniran was the Supervisor on duty at the Pen 24 office where I was taken but my direct superior whom I met later that day was Mr. Alaba Samson. There were other Supervisors like Mr. Adeyeri Michael and the trio of younger Supervisors – Yemi Dada, Increase Towase, and Bosun. I tried slotting in and was given a first feel of the job by Tunji Ayansola and Ayodeji Olasanoye.

The many pieces of equipment that I have seen on the pages of Poultry International, a magazine whose subscription was made for me by Tayo Ige, my good friend, now stood before me in flesh and blood. Cooling systems, automatic feeders, bell drinkers, nipple drinkers, industrial fans, and the like. One thing I kept saying to my friends was that I am ‘learning work’ at Zartech because I set a goal for myself.

Broiler Breeder was a department that many wanted to work in, and here I was, sent there without even lobbying. We tend the Parent Stock that lays the eggs which hatch into commercial Broilers. It was a lot of work but Mr. Taiwo made it look simple. This was unlike what I heard that was obtainable in the Broiler Unit where their Managers made broiler rearing look like a big deal.

It was not all smooth sailing though. There were challenging times. One was during the 2011 presidential elections when I made a mistake with feed requisition. I wrote the requisition, forgetting to factor in that it had been announced that the Feed mill would not open on Friday, a day before the election. As a result of my mistake, the feed we had would only be enough till Sunday. If I made that mistake elsewhere, I would have been punished with suspension without pay.

At another time, we had issues with burglars from the neighbouring community that is popularly known as Aba Igbira (Ebira village). Those guys broke in and made away with birds that were close to laying. After the dust settled, we were all surcharged a certain part of our salaries for six months. It was as annoying as it was deflating. It felt like an injustice because we paid for what we did not do.

The most challenging was in 2014 when I was on the night shift. We had new birds in one part of our department while the other department had birds that were actively laying. I was the Supervisor on shift and the buck would normally stop on my table. We had closed on Thursday morning and gone home only to be told that it was discovered that there was a burglary overnight.

All of us on the shift were told not to report that night, but to be on the farm the following morning. I was flat-out disheartened!

“Why was this happening on my shift?” “Where was this coming from?” “How did it happen?”

So many questions, yet no answer.

God rest my Big Daddy, late Pastor Adewole Babalola, who was around for the annual Christ Apostolic Church Pastors’ Conference at the time. He calmed me down and made it clear that if it ended in me losing my job, he would take me to Port Harcourt. Of course, he did not know I would even work in Ibadan in the first place.

After a few days, the matter was settled. It was a Tsunami! The attendants at the place where the unfortunate incident happened were sacked while I was retained because some people argued that I could not be in two different places at the same time.

While it was nice that I did not have a blot on my record. It was a huge shame that of those who were asked to go, two of them were among my main men who I always wanted on my shift. Some people were saying different stuff around on the farm about how the Breeder guys might actually be culpable. I did not blame them; many don’t want to hear good about you. The dust settled, and we continued life in the department but things did not feel the same again.

I started getting fed up of life in that place. It felt like I was imprisoned. The enthusiasm from the previous years had disappeared. The period from September to December 2014 was a challenging one both personally and career-wise but here we are, reminiscing.

A few days after that reinstatement, something happened that shook me to my very core. But here I am, living to share the story.

See you tomorrow!

FINDING MY FEET POST NYSC – That Encounter with OBJ at E.O.B

Featured Image: https://obasanjofarmsng.com/#

E.O.B in Ibadan these days is a popular OAP with one of the city’s radio stations. E.O.B for me in 2009 was Emu-Ostrich-Beijing Duck, the department where I was posted to at Obasanjo Farms for my two-week training. The last question I was asked during the oral interview was about flightless birds. My arrival at E.O.B Owiwi that Monday morning finally made me understand why Mr. Toye asked that question. I was the only one posted there to understudy the attendants and I met the big flightless avians.

The Dosunmus, my cousin, Dr. (Mrs.) Tosin Dosunmu and her husband, Pastor (Dr.) Wole, were gracious enough to accommodate me for the period of my training. I would leave their Tekobo street, Idi Aba residence in the Rock City and make my way to Lafenwa, where I would take a taxi to Owiwi, the village where the farm was based.

I was to work with some guys, Tunji and Ishola. Those were the Duck attendants while there was Monday, a Beninoise, who tended the ostriches and emu (one very ugly looking avian). There I learnt about the ways and manners of the ostriches. The Monday guy was the only one the giant birds feared. All the other guys, including Oga, would not go near them. Emu is not as wicked as the ostrich but no one wanted to dare them. The male ostriches would make this whoooo sound at intervals while the females simply lived with just chuckling sounds.

The male ostrich

I was told that they do not spare anyone when they want to deal with you. If they can fight themselves like crazy, you can then imagine what they would do to other animals or humans. As heavy as they look, they run very fast but cannot fly. If you are eager for a date with your creator, pick the egg of a female ostrich and make sure she sees you doing that. You are bound to either explain at Heaven’s gate or do a guest appearance on radio to share your ‘experience’. If its time to mate and no females are available, I was told that the males would mate anything, including their keeper.

One more thing I learnt then was that Southern Africans eat ostrich meat easily and readily but in this part of the world, only the very rich who want to show class can afford it. As at 2009, an adult Emu cost 150,000 naira while an adult ostrich went for double of that. An ostrich egg then, according to Monday, their keeper, was 60,000 naira. You find them in the homes of the super-rich in Nigeria and their meat is an exotic one that is found only on the tables of the aristocrats, in this part of the world.

The story I heard was that they were relocated to that farm from Otta because one of them attacked Baba OBJ one day. The errant male ostrich was shot and one of its wings amputated. I saw it live at E.O.B.

The emu

Those two weeks were a mixed grill for me. However, my hosts made me feel very much at home. There was no pressure on me at all and I remain eternally grateful for this. It’s a shame I did not eventually continue beyond that short period.

Former President Obasanjo stopped by at the farm one of the days during my second week of training and requested to see our Manager. The Attendants had gone to the office on the large expanse of land which housed a hatchery as well as a paper pulp producing company. Once they heard that Baba was around, they started running back to the unit so that they would not have to do plenty shalaye.

The Unit’s Driver was called Baba Eruwa and he was on ground when OBJ came. The guys came and were panting, trying to hard to maintain composure but their expressions totally betrayed them. Fear and apprehension were boldly written on their faces. I got wind of Ebora Owu’s presence on the farm and had mentally prepared myself to meet the man.

Toye da? (where is Toye?), he asked and I responded that the Manager had gone to Agbeloba, as the head office was called. He asked about my identity, and I calmly told him I was a Trainee, one of those that were just employed. OBJ just said “pele o Trainee, kaabo si aarin wa” (welcome to our midst, you Trainee). He turned to Baba Eruwa and made a joke about the man being an ever-present anywhere Mr. Toye was. The general response was laughter. Truth be told, even if the former President said something that was not funny, the people would still laugh all in a bid to be in his good books.

“How many ostriches do you have now?” He asked no one in particular.

“About 150 sir!” Tunji answered. He was hoping to impress but he drew the ire of the short-fused Proprietor.

“About 150?” OBJ thundered, his friendly and jocular expression now replaced with a fiery look.

His security details quickly stepped in when they sensed that trouble was brewing.

“What do you mean by about 150? Can you not be specific?” One of the DSS guys asked TJ. Mr. Bebeto was shaking and stammering but Baba Eruwa came to his rescue.

“Baba, please don’t mind him. He is not in the right position to answer. The Ostrich and Emu attendant has gone to buy lunch and he is the one who can answer. This one is in charge of ducks and should not have answered.”

Baba Iyabo calmed down as if Baba Eruwa’s words were soothing. Clearing his throat, he responded.

“If it was when I was Obasanjo, that stupid answer you gave me would have earned you some hot slaps. You should have said you are not in charge instead of giving me a non-specific answer.”

Everyone apologized to Baba OBJ and the atmosphere changed again.

“By the way, you that you are answering a question I did not ask you, how many ducks do you have in stock?”

Beijing duck

Baba Eruwa stepped in again and doused the tension. He turned it into a humorous exchange till Baba entered his SUV and left a message with us for Mr. Toye.

If I had heard about how OBJ can quickly change moods, I experienced it firsthand on that day. We later had a funny replay of that incident, and everyone was laughing the scene off. Just imagine Baba Eruwa was not there that day. TJ for chop slap or something more. That day, we all learnt a lesson in being specific and not answering when unsure of the question being asked.

Well, my two weeks ended and I returned to Ibadan for the call to resume proper, but that call never came. Maybe I was not a good Trainee, maybe the HR finally got his wish, maybe it was not written in the stars because 2009 went like that and I continued job hunting while staying sane. Those were days when I would stroll to Bashorun to spend time with my friend and brother, Adekunle Wonders (who many know as Kunle 05), along with Segun Egbedele (who I still call Shigo).