California Street: A Psychoactive Gift On The Fire Escape.

There’s this musician I’ve been listening to recently. A rapper.

His name is Tumi. I think his music is cool.

He’s from South Africa.

I’ve had his “I’m killing” song on replay for a while now. The song has some seriously dope vibes.

The whole Spotify thing is still somewhat surreal to me. Streaming songs on repeat.

That is something I probably would’ve never done about a year ago.

In Nigeria I always had to conserve my internet subscription. Internet subscriptions cost money, and so if I planned to listen to a song more than once, it made more sense to just download it.

But that’s not the case here in San Francisco.

There’s wifi everywhere. Our college dorms have super fast wifi and that’s just wonderful, but even out in the city free wifi is not hard to find.

That sort of access to the internet makes you see things differently.

Now if feels like my computer is really just a screen, a keyboard, and maybe some RAM.

And the entire internet is my hard drive.

Because you can access files on the internet so quickly- it’s almost like they were already on your computer.

I find all that really interesting to think about.


My roommate isn’t around. I’ve got the room to myself this evening.

I think I have some weed in one of my drawers.

A while back this Israeli guy was hanging out at the dorms. I think he was couchsurfing with an Israeli classmate or something.

I went to the patio downstairs to do something, and we crossed paths there. We got talking.

His first name was Roy.

His last name was literally something from the Bible. Like, the name of some fire-bending prophet or something.

People in Nigeria are generally very religious and so names from the Christian bible are very common. But physically meeting an Israeli guy with a Bible name made me see Bible characters as being much less otherworldly.

Like, these people in the bible were human beings. That clairvoyant prophet I’ve been hearing about in church since I was a baby, was just like this guy that’s smoking weed across the table from me.

They were all human beings, not surreal mystical characters existing on some esoteric metaphysical plane.

It felt like a very profound realisation and awareness.


Roy said he spent like the past few months working at a weed farm.

Sorry, a what?

A weed what?

I thought that was super interesting. I had never heard anything like that before.

He offered me some weed.

I took some time to weigh the situation.

I had class the next morning, and I didn’t want to be disoriented from the weed or anything.

I probably thought: I don’t know, I’m probably enough of an unserious student already. I don’t think I should aggravate my situation even more with some impromptu weed.

But he seemed like a really cool guy, and I felt like I would enjoy spending time with him.

I obliged.


We spent the next few hours smoking different strains of weed and talking about a bunch of different random stuff.

We talked about surfing, and about his time in the Israeli army.

He said the stress levels in the Israeli army could get very high. And that people relieved the stress in primarily two ways. Jerking off and fucking.

We talked about Fela Kuti.

Everybody knows Fela Kuti.

With a lot of people I meet randomly, whenever they hear I’m from Nigeria, usually Fela Kuti comes up in the conversation somehow.

Like, everybody knows this Fela Kuti guy.

At some point Roy would open up another small weed container and be like “This one. This one makes you laugh a lot. This one makes you laugh for no reason at all”, and he’d proceed to roll it into a joint.

It was a super interesting evening.


Surprisingly I did pretty well in class the next morning. It was a Formal Analysis class, and during my pre-class preparation I sort of independently came upon the concept known as “regression to the mean”.

I think it was “regression to the mean”. Some concept in Statistics.

I mentioned it in the course of the class, and was surprised to learn that it was an actual thing. Like, an actual statistical phenomenon.

That was really interesting.

Hm. Maybe I should smoke more weed.

Hm. Or maybe not.

Hm.


Tumi’s “I’m Killing” is still playing on Spotify.

Earlier in the day, I was playing the song on loudspeaker while I walked to the bathroom for a shower.

A classmate was walking by and she started nodding to the music and smiling at me.

I felt very good about that. Very very good.

I’ve had a crush on her for a while. But she doesn’t pay much attention to me. Or at least I don’t think she does.

She has a boyfriend. Some guy like that. Also a classmate. I’ve got mixed feelings about him, but generally I think he’s cool.

He can be kind of an asshole though. Everyone in the class generally agrees on that. He just has this persistent tendency to disturb and rile people up.

Hm, maybe I myself should begin to disturb everyone a lot more.

Maybe I should begin to play my music on loudspeaker, and make sure to bother everyone with it.

Maybe then my crush’ll begin to pay me more attention.

Hm, maybe that’s what makes her like that guy in the first place.

Hm.


Roy- the cool Israeli guy, he left me with some weed.

By “some weed”, I mean like three different strains. Or four even.

I’ve had them in one of my drawers for a while. I haven’t touched any of it since he gave me. That was like over a month ago. I’m not really a weed guy- I just don’t really have the space for it in my life.

But this evening I’m especially free. And I’m kind of in the mood.

I go get some.

I think smoking in the dorms could set off the fire alarm.

I heard something people do, is to head out onto the fire escape to smoke.

I’ve always thought that was kind of exciting, but I’ve never really given it too much thought.

But this evening I seem to have a lot of free time, so I find myself actively contemplating it.


I’m on the fire escape.

The night is dark, and California street is glittering with electric lights.

The air is chilly.

Tumi’s “I’m killing” is still playing in the room.

I light up a joint.

At some point I hear giggles.

I turn my head to the right, to understand what is going on.

There are two smiling faces in the window.

It’s Jakob and Fiona. They’re on the bed in the next room. They both look very excited.

Fiona opens the window and calls out my name. We all spend some time exchanging thrilled pleasantries- They from the warmth of the room next door, and me from my chilly spot on the fire escape.

We laugh and talk for a while. We’re all very excited to interact in this exhilarating situation.

At some point they close the window and return to indulging in their enviable romance.

I proceed to take a few more puffs at my joint, feeling accomplished to have scored some “cool guy” points in the books of two people I admire.


Image: View down California street on a random night.

Psych Ward Diaries. 04.

The preceding piece in this series can be accessed here.

It’s a calm evening in the ward.

It’s always a calm evening.

In this place you’ve got about half a dozen inpatients, incessantly plied with food and antipsychotics throughout the day.

Evenings are always calm.

You’re usually either full, or faced with a new meal you have no choice but to consume.

And there aren’t so many ways to expend energy.


I feel like I spend my entire time here digesting food and adding weight.

The chief Psychiatrist instructed Mr Dayo to take us through routine morning exercises.

I recently realised I hate mandatory exercise.

This came as a surprise to me, given that I’m generally a physically active person.

I think it’s the fact that the exercise isn’t self-motivated.

Every morning Mr Dayo rounds us up to do some weird shuffle-jogs around the corridors.

Mr Dayo used to be a hockey coach.

I imagine he’s in his element taking all of our unfortunate selves through this annoying routine every morning. He’s probably done this with tons and tons of unwilling students in his life.

Yemi’s own fitness passion seems to be Yoga.

Yemi is the guy with sleeve tattoos.

He’s very good at it. Yoga. Taking everyone through the poses and stuff.

I don’t like it. Or maybe it’s just this place. Yoga feels too slow-paced and static and somewhat ostentatious for me.

I don’t quite get the appeal if I’m being honest. I just don’t get it.

There’s also the topic of Yemi’s stature. Or at least my perspective of it.

I don’t know if it’s just me, but he seems small in a way that makes me feel like I’m too big.

Like I’m too tall.

And like my head is too big.

And like my limbs are too long.

I don’t understand it. I don’t get it at all.

This is even more confusing for me, because my physical stature is actually something I’m very happy about. Like, I have no complaints. None.

And so this feeling is one I do not understand at all.

I don’t get it at all.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just this place and the drugs messing with my head.


I am in the room. In the room I share with two other patients.

One very annoying thing about being in this place is the significant absence of personal space.

I am twenty-two years old.

The past few years of my life have seen me gradually grow into increasing personal independence.

In addition to me getting used to having my own personal space and having a predominant say in the affairs of my life, this independence and personal space is becoming a part of how I assess my quality of life.

I could be like: “Oh I don’t like this apartment- I feel like there’s not enough personal space. So I need to get a new place to stay. Somehow.”

It has become a part of how I assess what direction in my life constitutes forward movement.

And this?

Oh God.

Sharing a room- One room, with two people- Two Entire Separate People who have no personal relationships with me?

Like I’m in some slightly-upgraded boarding school environment.

Oh God.

Being woken up at God-knows-what-time every morning for exercise?

Like I’m in primary school?

Oh God.

Mr Dayo seems pretty calm about being here. And he’s in his late fifties.

Although I can imagine how a much older person might be less bothered by all of this spoon-feeding and monitoring and lack of significant personal agency.

They probably already know who they are and have a pretty definitive idea of their place in life.

All of this micromanaging on a personal level might not take so much from them, because they know the moment they leave this facility they’re back to their normal lives- Back to whatever place they’ve carved out for themselves in life. Something like that.

For me, it’s like everything is still very vague. Nothing is clear- I don’t even know so much for certain about my future and what my life is going to be like.

Pretty much everything about my future is just plans and ideas and feelings right now. Not so much exists in tangible reality.

And so fighting for things like personal space and independence is still this very intense psychological battle.

That makes being in this place feel like profound backward movement. I feel like a lot of my personal progress in the past few years has been completely eroded.

I don’t know if that is actually true, but I can’t help feeling that way.


Uchenna is on his bed, wistfully thinking aloud.

“Men, today na Friday. If to say I dey my area right now, I go just dey one bar with some correct beer and correct smoke, dey get myself right now.”

“Man, today is a Friday. If I was in the area where I live right now, I would currently be at a bar with some solid beer and respectable weed, seriously getting in touch with my inner man.”

I burst into laughter.

You miss the simple things in this place.

A quiet evening with drinks. Just chilling.

Music. Music of your own choice. Music you want to hear, the way you want to hear it.

You miss the simple things in this place.


Image: Chinese dinner in Ikeja, Lagos.

Cape Verde: A Story of a Faulty Quad Bike and Visualized Chicken.

It is evening.

I am outside. Outside the multi-storey building in which the studio apartment which currently serves as my living space, is located.

I am hungry.

I’m walking about, thinking about what to do.

I come across a Cape Verdean neighbor. He should be in his forties thereabouts. He was born on a different island. Got romantically involved with a female european tourist. That should have been like in his twenties.

He spent a number of decades living in Europe as her boyfriend. Or maybe husband. I don’t really know – I’m not even really sure what the difference is.

They had a number of kids.

At some point though, the relationship broke down.

I think somehow, the legitimacy of his stay in Europe was predicated on his relationship with said woman.

And so given the end of the relationship, he landed back in Cape Verde, with like nothing. No partner, no kids, no means of sustenance – or at least none that I was aware of.

I feel like his general grip on life was through the aperture of that relationship, and so given it’s dissolution, life was pretty much back to zero for him.

I am hungry.

He is also hungry.

We exchange greetings and head out for a walk.

We were having a chat at his place a while back. For some reason he refused to believe that I spent a number of months living in Germany the previous year.

And so in-between puffs of weed, I began to regale some of my experiences of the general Berlin terrain. Talked about Alexanderplatz and Rosenthaler Platz and a number of other “Platz”es and stuff.

By the way, I don’t understand how or where these people get weed. Very frequently, they find themselves in situations where they’re hungry and have no food to eat. But somehow it seems like there’s always weed to smoke- I don’t get it, I don’t get it at all.

Ahahahaha!!! You was in the Germany, you was in the Germany!!!

He began laughing and pointing excitedly at me. At that point he was convinced.


There’s a guy by the road with a quad bike. Tourist, from the looks of it. Or maybe one of those initial tourists who end up setting up tourist experiences. Like renting out quad bikes and stuff.

The quad has a problem. I think it won’t start. We agree to help him push it up the hill.


We’re at the destination. The quad has been successfully transported. The quad guy offers his appreciation. We respond- You’re welcome etc etc.

The Cape Verdean guy looks like he’s turning to leave. I don’t understand what he is doing.

What the hell is he doing? Is he not hungry anymore? This is dinner right here!!

Bruh, there’s no time to grovel in pointless inhibition this evening. There is hunger.

I express to the quad guy that we would appreciate some units of physical currency in addition to his verbal expression of gratitude.

Bruh we’re very hungry. “Thank you” is good, but we’re going to need more than that if we’re to remain alive and conscious pls

He reaches into his pocket and extracts some euros.

The Cape Verdean guy begins to smile very widely- expressing relieved excitement at the emergence of an assuaging answer to the problem of his (strangely repressed) hunger.

We receive the euros with thanks, and keep moving.

I feel encouraged. This night has started off on a positive note.


We’ve bought some light stuff to eat. Some other Cape Verdean guys have joined us. I have no idea where they came from.

We keep moving.

Onde esta Galinha?

I’m not exactly satisfied with the relatively austere things we’ve been eating so far. I’m in the mood for some chicken.

Galinha!!!

He is laughing very loudly. He turns to the other Cape Verdean guys and tells them I’d like to eat some chicken this night. They also begin to laugh at me.

Galinha hahaha!! You have sweet mouth!! We in Cape Verde call it “Muta Sabi”!!

He turns to the other guys- they’re all laughing and making fun of me and voicing the expression: Something something muta sabi.

I don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m just in the mood for some chicken this night.

The closest thing to “Muta Sabi” in Nigerian Yoruba would be maybe “Oju Kokoro”.

It literally means “Eye of an insect”. It’s used to describe people who are generally perceived to lack contentment.

Nobody should even piss me off with these annoying traditional expressions this night. It does not make sense to be content with an undesirable situation, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting tasty things in your life.

We keep moving.