...of simple average men

There are certain things, people and events from my chequered secondary school days in Warri that I will never forget. This was the age of puberty and juvenile renaissance; the time we first discovered the joy of sex and the concomitant pleasures that could be derived from kissing the lips of the same classmate you insulted in the dining hall two days ago, the thrilling episodes of breaking bounds from school without a proper exit pass and going to eat eba and egusi from the forbidden 'food na ready' buka across the single lane that linked ajaminogha and ogunu. 

But apart from the great sex you could get from the virgins that littered the school and the evergreen palm wine that was smuggled into junior staff quarters, what amazed me about the school was the odd assortment of individuals that one met in boarding school; ruffians, effikos (bookworms), gays, talented geeks, born-agains, and genuine flirts. But all through my stay in college no-one amazed me more than Folajimi - or Jimi as he was called. 

Jimi was the original average person. There was nothing in the world that Jimi could do brilliantly. He was actually not all together useless, which wouldn't have been uncommon as I had the hard luck of staying in the same room with a gang of the most useless boys I have ever known - Jimi was unique in that he was neither useless nor brilliant - he was mostly just a shade below average in EVERYTHING. 

He scored average in class, was average when we played football and was usually in the third or fourth set when we played 'choosing', was average in his knowledge of movies and music, dated an averagely pretty girl, had an average voice and uncannily couldn't raise it beyond a particular decibel even if mobbed at the rec centre where we used to go buy snacks, he had two class shirts, two pairs of house wear, two pairs of shoes and I don't know a more average number than two. 

Jimi was queer but was always available. If you needed anything to be done averagely, he'll be around to help you. Don't expect anything spectacular - it can never be. But he was handy and a pretty nice person to banter with (if you didn't mind an average banter - and I was usually amenable to such average banter after my 16 year old liver had just been drenched with a half bottle of Red Label whiskey nicked from the house of a room-mate's guardian at Shell Estate, Edjebba). 

Almost twenty years have gone by now since I left college and it has finally dawned on me that Jimi was not alone in this world. Manchester United Football Club has in their ranks the most average footballer in the world - John O'shea - and their challenge for the title will be a hard road if and only if O'shea continues to command a first team shirt in a team that lauds itself as amongst the elites in world football. The only talent he has is his height - beyond that he just makes up the numbers. It would be no different if we put a red shirt on Klint the Drunk and ask him to parade the old Trafford turf and kick any ball that comes close to him (and kick any other thing that comes close to the ball). 

Watch O'shea on any match day; he has no ball skills, no intelligence, no innovative thinking. If a ball is passed to him, he passes it right back at you (even if you have two markers on you) eclipsing any opportunity for the team to maintain ball possession. I know much has been said about his versatility, his ability to play in every known position ( I am talking football positions here) having even kept goal for United in a crunch league match against Spurs in the 2007/2008 season and accolades in this regard have been quietly showered on him. 

He has also scored some miracle goals - 4th goal against Arsenal, chipping Almunia in the 2004/2005 season and the injury time winner against Liverpool at Anfield in the 2006/2007 season after coming on for Rooney. 

But let's be honest, John, like Jimi my friend before him, was average in all of these positions; a jack of all positions and unfortunately a master of none. The miracle goals were not Messi-like miracles but more like the miracle that can be conjured by Perpetual Nkwocha if mistakenly included in the all conquering USA female soccer teams of the nineties. 

What baffles me is the inexplicable inability of O'shea to raise his game, to improve his play, despite having played in the highest level of club football and having played for over ten years with scores of gifted and talented players like Giggs, Ronaldo, Rooney, Beckham just to mention a few. Unlike Carrick, he hasn't played sublime football before and then declined, nor is he like Fletcher who has raised his game enough to create a niche for himself as United's hatchet man; John O'shea has just been consistently a plateau of average football display.

As Man United continue their quest for another Barclays championship and glory in Europe, the question I think Sir Alex should genuinely ask himself from time to time is if John O'shea could possibly be the first or second choice right back in Chelsea, Barcelona, Real Madrid or Bayern.

The above article was submitted by Charles Omere, a poet and social commentator.

The unveil TVC - 'Abasinmi Aiyayah' - Equal Transformation

Those were the days..

Working with a team of seasoned chaps in what was then called the re-branding project team, we defined the look and feel, the language and speak and the personality of the emerging, refreshed brand FCMB.

The year was 2006, I then worked in service quality and quality control, but had the unforgettable honour of being nominated to be part of the project team;  sub-team, a two-member team, T-Sho!, I hail o,... lol.

Together, we were the sub-team on Advertising and External Communications. Our deliverables were:

- Create a go-to-market campaign that would position the brand as emotive, within reach, professional, confident, and high on rational benefits, a proudly African, proudly Nigerian brand.

- Create brand re-launch communications that would immediately show the freshness and futuristic outlook of the new FCMB

- Create a baseline CSR strategy for the new brand

- Articulate a Strategy for the new brand and implement the same.

Those were fun days... well, like they say, we came, we saw we conquered.

In all, my most memorable moments happened while putting together this TVC and the communications campaign as a whole. The sleepless nights, the project meetings, and having to work with a CEO who knew where the brand was coming from, where it was going, and how to guide us there...

And so was born the FCMB SUCCEED  campaign, the coming together of the two gold bars (my first crack at planning and executing adverts for FCMB)

Here is the multi-award-winning EQUAL TRANSFORMATION TV Commercial (click to view)

And there it is, the award-winning Succeed TVC, fondly called Abasi Aiyaiyah due to the music score (It won 2 creative awards for advertising) one while it was still being flighted, and the second award, 5 months after the campaign had been rested.

Some of you may recall the teaser press adverts...

Teaser 2

 Remember this?

I shall not go into creative and messaging strategy here, nor would I get carried away and attempt to compartmentalize the creative rationale.


P.S: Henry B, T-Sho, Tai Solo, it was mad fun working with you guys on this.

Like my goon Whitney, 'Minnie' Mezue would say, Peace (peace sign with two fingers) in the Middle East!

I'm out!

Vicky's African Dream...

Here is the story of my all time favourite TV advert developed in my FCMB days.

"I remember our first meeting, from the airport to my hotel room for a quick change, then off to her suite for a chat about the task at hand. I had heard so much about her, Vicky Sampson. I was nervous and apprehensive; I wondered if I would be uncomfortable standing in the presence of such an accomplished singer and song-writer.. she turned out to be charming, graceful, humble, and accommodating, she was a delight to behold, and to work with"

Culled from memoirs of creative mind by Olufemi Ashipa

Working with the renowned Vicky Sampson (who composed and performed 'My African Dream') was a dream come true. The South African Songstress and Diva was a delight to work with.

And how can I forget the composer/arranger, Mr. Cedric Samson is known for his compositions for greats such as Hugh Masakela... and who composed the soundtrack to the biography of Dr. Nelson Mandela, the song Öh Mandela, Son of Africa, and which he arranged and performed at Madiba's 80th birthday celebrations (I hope I got that right), You should see Cedric on the drums as well... awesome!

We went ahead to shoot the TVC, here are some stills (still photos)  from the set:

  More...

More still...

More, more still:

We had over 40 hours of awesome footage in all, shooting a safari scene, a graduation scene, a family dinner scene, a sailing scene, (we had to shoot from two yachts and a helicopter simultaneously), lions, etc., all inspired by your voice, Vicky.

The rationale for the TVC was simple, what is the African Dream and how does it relate to you at work, at play, and those milestones and achievements that make us who we are...what we are. It is a journey of success achieved through a committed partnership, a partnership between you and your bank... built on trust, commitment, and ownership. It ends with a promise of commitment; the essence of true consumer banking.

In case you never saw it, here is the link to the Our African Dream TVC (part of the "totally committed to you" campaign), this advert received wide acclaim including an independent critic's rating as the Number 1 Advert at the time RATING

OUR AFRICAN DREAM TVC (click on the link)

My African Dream - Vicky Sampson (Click to watch/listen)

Working with you guys in the studios in cape town, i shall never forget, better yet, i would always remember the first day we spent composing the music score, You, Vicky Sampson, Me, a piano, and a notebook! oops, Sorry Cedric, you got cut off this photo... i see you in your black t-shirt, lol!

Remember the lyrics to our composition? Well, here it is: Our African Dream Written by Cedric Samson, Vicky Sampson and Olufemi Ashipa, and performed by the gorgeous Vicky Sampson.

Credits: Doyin Adewumi, Sola Adegborioye, Steve Mc Dermott (Fatai), Femi J and Austin Ufomba, Durand Le Sueur, Debbie Terry, Michelle, Shawn, and Mayor Esiaba, this was fun.

Our African Dream - Stanza one:

Can you hear the drums beating

My heart beats to her call...

The sound of a new day dawning

Success in life is calling me...

Our African dream, my heart wants to follow..

Our African Dream, our hearts beat as one..

Cos we have the power to dream

and the passion to work in harmony

So lets keep this dream alive

and together we can fly..

Working together as one...

(refrain)

Holla if you want the tracks...

- end -

THE FART POEM

Farts are part of our everyday existence, whether they are considered to be pleasant or not, I say, always look for the laughter hidden within and suddenly they would have a new, personal meaning to you.

Here is a remarkable poem by Anthony Omere called "The Fart Poem'

A fart can be quiet,

A fart can be loud,

Some leave a powerful,

poisonous cloud.

A fart can be short, or a fart can be long, 

some farts have been known to sound like a song

A fart can create A most curious medley, 

A fart can be harmless, Or silent, and deadly.

A fart might not smell, while others are vile, 

a fart may pass quickly, or linger a while

A fart can occur in a number of places, 

and leave everyone there, with strange looks on their faces.

From wide-open prairies to small elevators, 

or crowded buses, a fart will find all of us sooner or later. 

But that farts are all bad, is simply not true

after all, we must not forget......sweet farts like you!

(c) Anthony Omere, 2010

FCMB TV Commercial 2007 - My Bank and i - 1

Well,

What can I say...

My passions include cooking, advertising development, and brand management. Here is a link to a TV commercial I worked on for a commercial bank in Nigeria. From communication strategy to advertising development and production. It was shot on location in Johannesburg -  South Africa.

This TVC was developed to cede the emotive attributes of the brand. It was the first TV advert in the My Bank and I series.

If you couldn't view that, CLICK HERE to watch it off youtube.

Enjoy!!!!

What is the price of TRUTH? (a penny for your thoughts…)

Act 1 Scene 1:

Enter three characters, Stella, James, and Susan. Stella and James are romantically involved, while Susan is best friends with them both, separately.

Stella: I still can’t believe you hurt me the way you did? Besides everything else, we are first and foremost, friends, and I expect that you would be true to me at all times and not be the one to make me cry, it really hurts when I think of how deeply you hurt me

James: Seriously, what have I done wrong dear, our friendship matters a lot to me as well, hence my putting myself in rather difficult situations sometimes, just to get you to hear and understand what is in fact, the truth. When we started the affair, I told you that I was not prepared for any emotional commitments, and you agreed to it... we even coined the term best friends with the best benefits... together

Stella: I know, that is not the issue here. You broke my heart and threw my emotions in my face, you led me on and then pulled the carpet off from under my feet! you lied to me.

James: Wow!  That’s deep... do you recall how you always threw fits and became moody each time we talked about us and you said u loved me and I didn’t reply? Do you recall how many times you cried when I reminded you that you meant the whole world to me, as a friend and more, but nothing emotional?  the conversations you had with Stella about us, and how I was making you cry by not opening up my heart to you?

Stella (cutting in) Yes I do.

James: Well, I chose to keep you happy by playing along with you and saying everything you wanted to hear , and each time, I pointed out that I just said them to prevent you from crying. 

Stella (hmmmmm)

James: Yes Stel, it hurt each time I had to lie about it, but that was the only way to peace and that was all you wanted to hear, to you, saying those things were the truth, and all that mattered... was I then supposed to watch you cry day in day out? Even when we stopped, you seemed to suddenly hate me... it seemed the only way to keep being friends, was to keep giving you what you wanted to hear, even at the risk of me lying to you.

Stella: But you shouldn’t have lied still, I always appreciate the truth and I can handle the truth when it doesn’t hurt and when it is not thrown in my face... sometimes, we want to be lied to because it gives us something to hope for and look forward to while we try to make you into what we hope for...

James (now totally exasperated): are you for real?!  I pushed and prodded until I had to lie to you for peace to reign; now you tell me you can handle the truth? I am guessing this is why men assume women speak from both sides of their mouths sometimes:

A week earlier, the following conversation Act 1 Scene 2 had taken place:

RESULT = the crying and wailing were averted, peace seemed to reign, James kept up the façade and everyone seemed happy

Yesterday, the following conversation Act 1, Scene 3 ensued:

 





RESULT = a sad painful end to the friendship

I am guessing the real question here is: who is really to blame for the present situation? Stella, James, or both?

A penny for your thoughts, please.

..of local flights and frustrations (a feel of local air-travel in Nigeria)

Tick-tuck, tick-tuck, tick-tuck....

Tick tuck says the clock, what you have to do, do quick.....

Yes, as kids, this message drummed to, we were. Today November 21, 2009, I questioned it, and the rationale for it...

I questioned the sanity of the average Nigerian....(My definition of insane: simple, mumusciously accepting and tolerating acts of random stupidity) and smiling..., and be expected to remain calm.

The scene, the old domestic wing of the MM airport Lagos, the cast, the immaculately clad staff of A***k Air, the raving throng of certifiably Insane customers, and then, myself.

In my subconscious, I hear the director shuffle in his seat.. And in a calm commanding voice...'Take your positions! Light, camera action....

Enter stage left, the ticketing and counter staff of A***k Air, it is 30 minutes to flight take-off, calm and confident... The manager (some questionable fellow called Kazeemson Ayindeyo) strolls in, smiling, the counter is in disarray... People shouting, and waving tickets in the air, angrily....

We breathe a sigh of relief... Monija! Monija! Monija... I am amused, somewhat.. I turn, and see a middle aged football-like woman, gelle and all, for a split second, my thoughts drift to lagbaja (remember him? The musician, who covers his face and hides behind a mask..., I hear he stole some kid's chocomilo and has been in hiding ever since.) 

Focus! My mind calls out!


Monija! Monija mi! Epppp me, epppp me pliss, my ticket e go expire o....! Then it hit me, like a thunderbolt ... These tickets, if not converted to boarding passes, would, like a can of opened unused evaporated milk..... Expire!?!

We push forward, tickets in hand... He, Ayindeyo, in his most self-absorbed voice, asks for our tickets, and we oblige...

As if connected to a loudspeaker..... Tick tuck, tick tuck.... we hear the clock..... 8am strikes the clock, still struggling for boarding passes for a 7.30am flight.

Restless and impatient, we let loose... Behind me stands a lady, a celebrity I recognise, in the same queue and struggling on the same line....she whispers softly still... Am sure if there were more ladies here, it wouldn't be this chaotic.

Hmmmmmmm, now that's a thought, considering that the mêlée was caused by the professional ineptitude and legendary rudeness of a female ticketing staff that had since withdrawn to a corner to admire the chaos that is her masterpiece...

Anyways, as we push forward still, the counter creaking from our combined weight... here stands Mr Ayindeyos.. Suddenly, swiftly, he throws a hand up and commands silence!...or was that (gesture) a heil Hitler salute perhaps? (I ask myself)

Then I saw it, not quite sure what it was, but I saw it... The sweat patch under his arm, where his armpit should be.... are those dreadlocks struggling to make their presence felt through his shirt’s underarm? Brown-colored dreadlocks perhaps? I cringe...

Then he smiles as if to savour, once again, the extent of his power over helpless customers who had paid to get on a flight, but who are now subjected to begging, groveling and idol-worshiping Ayinde-Mr. Monija!

(I saw it, his brown uneven teeth, crooked from... okay, freeze frame!: how would I know where those teeth could possibly have been...?!

Someone behind me whispers... I hear they got that way from him chewing high-tension wires (interesting, I think to myself, so Ayinde Mr. monija is also the cause of the power outage in most parts of Lagos?!) Finally, the solution to our PHCN woes is at hand... Not by increasing our generating capacity, but rather, simply by confining Ayinde mr.-monija to Aro Mental.

His dark brown teeth shine proudly through his smile, he must have, I am sure, taken extreme care to polish his teeth, to an immaculate rich brown hue... 

An hour later, and having basked in a sea of musky, sweaty, and upset fellows, I finally get my boarding pass... then the chase begins...

I see an aircraft, what are they doing to it I ask? It's called a pre-flight safety check... Is that why the landing gear seems to be putting on sprint shoes!? - I ask myself.

Over the public address speakers... Someone clears her throat, and we hear the all too familiar voice of miss hot potato in her throat (you know her don't you? The one that makes all airport announcements in Nigeria, in a way that she and only she can understand what she is saying) at least we have been able to successfully clone her in all our airports, well done FAAN!

"All checked-in passengers on A***k flight 123 should please proceed for boarding"... (I managed to make out what she said this time, surprise!)

We proceeded to the boarding gate. As if on cue, we all begin a sprint for the aircraft... And wait for it..... So does the craft! Aha! I think to myself, the aircraft landing gear did have running shoes on!

In my hurry I try to read the writing on the craft, A***k, greed of......, or is it fools of Nigeria, I am unsure, uncertain, it is all a blur.

We finally reach the sad subdued aircraft and board it.

My thought strays to Ayinde, to the gele-clad woman, to my fellow sprinters... I buckle in and attempt to drift into sleep... but I cannot.

We fly, we land; hard and bumpy, but we land.... the pilot (who I fondly nicknamed Mr. Tipsy kangaroo (as only a tipsy kangaroo can possibly bounce that many times in one landing), oblivious to our pain and frustrations asks:

“I hope you have had a wonderful experience flying with us today, thank you for choosing A***k Air, looking forward to welcoming you on board again....”

we all dwell on his words for a few seconds...then, as if on cue, the tears flow as we realise that he was indeed right, no matter how poorly treated we were today, he would indeed be welcoming us again, and soon... beggars they say, have no choices.

End Notes: Have you had a not-so-pleasant experience with an air carrier, local or international? would like to read about your experiences as well. Comment below.

for Oluwaremilekun - I look to you

Though I never show it
And though I never may
I think of you, always
In the fondest way

Your smile and laughter
The memory of our first encounter

A smile of gold you truly have
My heart you melt with every sound you utter

My darling, my lover my friend
I look to you when I am happy
I turn to you when I am uncertain

When the music stops and it is all still and calm
… then I still look to you.

I look to you when no one is there..
I look to you when I need someone dear
I look to you every moment of every day

Not cos i have to, but cos i want to..

.. your love has left me speechless but tamed.


November 11, 2009. Olufemi Ashipa ©

Idiocy, the mother of invention...?

Stop! Park!, he barked..

Clad in black, like the devil.. a demon… filth, no.. no roll-on (me thinks)

I oblige, hesitant, thoughts racing

Do I have all I would need
My papers, my sanity and something to give…?

Slowly he approaches, gun totting.. frowning
The gentleman that I am, I smile, I stretch forth my hand for a handshake

Who you be?, he bellows.. (WTF, me thinks)
Your papers and particulars (aren’t they one and the same… me thinks)
I oblige.

Open your booth! Do you mean that of my car, I ask, puzzled…yes! (he barks)
He sees the spare-tyre, my shoes, a walkie talkie, my cutlass (camera in my brain zooms-in and focuses on the cutlass)… he stops, looks at it, blood stained and dripping….

He looks on..my laptop, my books, my smiling-deaf, mute-Rottweiler..(me hopes he is not a dog-lover, for i am in for it now, a dog stuffed in my car booth...hmm).
Then he speaks, strong and stern! I panic…

Wait for it…. Wait for it… wait for it….

Where is the receipt of the laptop he screams, where is your fire extinguisher and the tyres-rims!

At this point, I am perplexed, stunned… I offer a suggestion to him: look at the dripping cutlass…
‘do not teach me my job, he barks”, foolery, idiocy, nincompoop… he mutters

He walks off, and I am dismayed

Then it hits me…I am with my keys, my papers and my car, the lane is free, my destination afar
Of ethics and decency, he bothers not, as he hints softly… oga, any betta na?

My receipts I do not have, my destination afar,
Officer, brother, I say, oya come let us ponder, together, here is a little something for you...

Like lightning he reappears, for once, I can commend.

Speed, agility, passion, dedication, commitment….. all for wanting…
… wanting for a little something, I now suddenly consider giving

Ever vigilant, he assists me to cross the road, like brothers, friends of old, like partners, he helps me cross the road…

My heart tugs at the turn-ups of my well-ironed trousers.. em, my cutlass I ask (hesitant).. did you not notice my bloody cutlass…?

Ah yes! He says…
Careful sah, ketchup rusts metal, and causes red dark stains.

End.