R A I N F O R E S T P A V I L I O N

I no longer regard myself as Londoner. Maybe, if I went back in time to when I was 15, I could legitimately say I was, but times have swiftly changed and so has my mothers wishes.

So over the weekend, I found myself back in my home city. Whilst roaming around I went to visit the Rainforest Pavillion on Bedford Square.

Note that all these pictures were taken on my iPhone as my camera battery died. :(((



Set just outside The AA school, The rainforest pavilion by Chilean-German architects GUN, is a five metre jungle of inverted prisms. Designed to create the humidity of a rainforest, the pavilion is based on a previous project entitled Water Cathedral. Their ongoing research sees the relationship between architecture and geographical conditions and this pavilion in particular is that of Chilean's dynamic climate. As part of London Architecture Festival, a pavilion is installed in front of the Architecture Association (AA school) each year and this year was my first time seeing their installation.

At first, I was a little apprehensive to see drapes of fabric, but to tell you the truth. I loved it. With incredible precision, the structure gently drips water and has been recalled as an oasis in the centre of London, it's so refreshing to see. You should definitely check this out. A Great place for dreamers to read, sit and just contemplate about how beautiful life is.
And It's here all summer long!

W H Y R E M K O O L H A A S ?

Now that it's monday, It definitely does not feel like Friday was the hottest day of year. With cool breezes blowing silently towards my face I feel refreshed for this new coming week!

Since it hit June, I've been thinking a lot about my dissertation and i'm beginning to wonder if the 7,000 word count limit would really be enough. So it was great when I came across a documentary that Rem Koolhaas had created.



Also known as Remment Koolhaas, the dutch architect and urban theorist, is one of the most influential artistic people of our times. With his firm OMA he continues to push the boundaries with many of his controversial designs. Many architects are controversial however, unlike Zaha Hadid and Frank Gehry, Koolhaas throws you off balance with his wide and forever expanding ideas that don't necessarily form a pattern. 2014 is seeming to be quite the eventful year for Koolhaas, as it was announced earlier this year that he was to be director for the Venice Biennale, (open now to the public till November) and has an upcoming documentary titled 'REM', directed by son and filmmaker Tomas Koolhaas.

One of his notable buildings, the CCTV headquarters in Bejing China, still bewilders me as it is more of a statement than anything else. Usually architects compete for the height of their skyscrapers, but Koolhaas was most interested in the connection that people have with a skyscrapers spatial irregular forms and sculptural aesthetic. This conflicting building not only displays power but also a true notion of rebellion in society.

"It was an expression of disappointment at the way the skyscraper typology was used and applied. I didn’t think there was a lot of creative life left in skyscrapers. Therefore, I tried to launch a campaign against the skyscraper in its more uninspired form."

Whilst I watched his documentary, Lagos: Wide and Close, I realised why Lagos fascinates me so much. The themes that hit the country like the population growth and the connection with the urban environment excites me because it doesn't even make sense and it thoroughly frustrates me. I'll still stick by guns and state that Nigeria is not a developing country but more a power country with Lagos being an archetype of the megacity. It is not only one of the most powerful countries in Africa, but in the world. With our many resources, this year especially sees a high influx in our economy as we reached $500 billion, however Nigerians would never notice, as the income for the year that ploughs in is lower than $3000 a year; informing the constant struggle. The stature of which it stands is so powerful, yet factors like the absence of social services for the poor and the lack of the education for the majority still manage to keep Nigeria at a constant standstill. Contrary to this, Lagos is forever hustling. Very different to most African countries,where it is far more relaxed with people taking their time to glance at the sun now and then, Nigeria is constantly moving. By 2015 it has been predicted that Lagos will rank third behind Bombay and Tokyo with twenty-three million inhabitants. Woah!

Imagine twenty-three million people in the urban jungle that is Lagos. It blows my mind. Twenty-three million people tightly squeezed together striving to survive. We all know that Lagos is already packed with the 15 million people already. So how will we now cope with the extra millions??
Koolhaas continues to note:

“What particularly amazes me is how the kinds of infrastructure of modernity in the city trigger off all sorts of unpredictable improvised conditions, so that there is a kind of mutual dependency that I’ve never seen anywhere else.”

 I thoroughly enjoyed the documentary as Koolhaas entered what most architects just ramble on about. Even though I thought to myself that it could have gone in with more vigour and detail, maybe even going into the villages and seeing the structure within the different tribal cultures and investigating more into the complex organisations within the city. Nevertheless, I highly appreciated that he himself has evolved with Nigeria by visiting four times and researching for the past 12 years. He has been able to see firsthand Lagos flourish in all its totalities and also see how it continues inspire as it grows. This documentary not only validated the content of my dissertation but made me eager to research more into Koolhaas.



 I believe strongly that Nigeria will get better. Koolhaas believes this too, identifying Nigeria as an "announcement of the future". I don't even understand where I get this faith from because I know how corrupted my country is. Nigerians are smart individuals, but it's time we realise that the holy ground we stand on or that our forefathers stood on is powerful and has given birth to so many blessings because if we don't soon, other people will take it away from us and slowly it's already happening.

To watch Rem Koolhaas' interactive documentary click here.

Y O U D E F I N E Y O U

I usually wouldn't write a thing like this, but i'm going to do it anyway.

At the start of last week whilst reading Half a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi, the book itself sparked up a lot of conversation and one conversation that I had with a guy really annoyed me.
It started off with little jibs before I finally moved tables at work and as I spend the majority of my lunch breaks reading, this not only annoyed me because of his ignorance but also because I felt that
I had given him far too much of my attention and not enough on my book.

"You don't speak the language so I can't connect with you". Pause. I'm sorry, what?
When he finished this sentence he was referring to the fact I don't speak yoruba as I am of Nigerian descent. Usually I wouldn't pay any mind to this, but seeing as this was a night shift and already it was 2 am, I wasn't really in the mood.  He continued to say that i'm not really nigerian as the origin of my first name for a start is french but with an English spelling. He noted that being brought up in London means that i'm only from Britain. Huh? And believe it or not this all started because of a book. The questions of how many times have you been to Nigeria in a prideful manner, not only made me further disgusted, but angry.

I don't know when it became okay for someone to tell me that i'm not what I am because i'm different to what they are used to. Furthermore, I can't and won't tolerate ignorance, so I got up, moved and read my book with the repetitive sounds of I'm sorry, it was a joke, whaling in the background.

It got me thinking though, about a time I went to Nigeria to find out more about my heritage. I was 14 years old and I told my mum that i'm going to Nigeria. No money, no visa and I was pouring out with a stupid kind of confidence that only a teenager could get away with. Nevertheless, that summer I found myself flying to the motherland. On the flight, whilst stabbing my plastic fork on British Airways' take on Jollofrice, I got praised for travelling alone, "oh you brave girl", which only left me mortified as flying by myself was one of the familiar. That summer I went to see my grandparents and other family members, most of which I did not even know, but one of the other highlights was meeting my uncle Gomez.

I planned to go to Nigeria to find out more about my family history, especially on my father's side as I had absolutely no clue what exactly made the other half of me. I was always in search for those answers, but I soon realised that sometimes those answers are best left unsaid. As I pulled up in Lagos to a large block of flats with my aunty we journeyed up each tiresome stair.

With a wide smile, he greeted us at the top. My uncle Gomez was tall with vintage brown spectacles and in one of those crisp white shirts that you'd find if you rummaged hard around Portobello market.
As the conversation got going with chicken nuggets and chips flying in my mouth, I felt at home. This was the first time we'd ever met and I'd found out that he had two children who both graduated from Oxford (no pressure on a 14 year old right there) and was a notable lawyer in Lagos that spent his time writing for the newspaper (as i'm writing, he reminds me a little bit like Odenigbo from HAYS).

Before I left, I found out that I have Brazilian origins, a quarter to be exact, and just as I headed out, he didn't hold back to say that my father was a stupid man, which made me laugh. The search didn't necessarily end, it just slowly died as the answers I had been looking for confused everything I knew. When I came back to school after summer I told a few friends about the journey I had, with a few listening to hear that i'd met my cousins, who liked looking at me weirdly, but I wasn't expecting them to deny that I was of Brazilian descent. It was only when I came to uni that I realised that many people get shot down from other african people as they themselves don't believe that it's actually possible for an african in this world to be mixed unless your skin is of a caramel tone. I was not only offended but actually discouraged to speak about my ethnicity and about how Nigeria fascinates me.

And now being at the age of 21,  I have realised through all my searching that you define you. It took me this long to find out the real answer. That you don't need to feel defined about what other people say you are. I'm Nigerian because i'm a Nigerian, regardless of whether I have an English accent or not, or whether I can/can't speak the languages, or if I do/ don't know the history. I'm a Nigerian and i'm proud to be one. You are not more or less than someone solely because you might know this and that or because of how you appear to be. I had to go all the way to Nigeria, to find out about myself and I came back even more puzzled.

This is why I started this blog. We're all on the same journey, on the same mountain. We suffer in similar ways and we laugh when we find that the journey is hilarious. A journey full of different facts, opinions and limitations that keep you captive but i'm not interested in the barriers of life.  I'm only interested in the freedom that Christ has given me.  I'm interested in the findings that I come across and the art I see and I'm using my time to document and illustrate how I use it. I love where i'm from and i'm using this blog to remind me in the future of how I became the woman God destined for me to be.

I have learnt 

No one has the authority to tell you who are, as you're a child of God. You are sheltered under the shadow of his wings, so just remember you define you. Just you.

H A L F A Y E L L O W S U N

"Our troops have lost all the captured territory in the Midwest and the march to Lagos is over. Nigeria now says this is war, no longer a police action" He shook his head. "We were sabotaged".

"Would you like some cake?" Olanna  asked.

At this point only two things were roaming in my mind.

One.

Does Olanna really not have one bone in that body of hers that represents any kind of compassion to those around her or does she like to pretend that during the Biafran War, everything is just purely cruising by smoothly?

And two

cake? Really?

Half way through this book I was told that I should have read  "Things fall part" by Chinua Achebe. Mmmm, a little late, but after finishing it i'm now contemplating swapping it for one of my others in the book club series.
But as I recollect how fast June has already gone, I'm mid way into my second book for the summer book club. Did I mention that there's still 5 books left? uh huh... I don't know how i'll do it either but it's a challenge, right?

Last year, Lynne and I decided to read a load of books in the summer but we failed so badly, I think if i'm right I only read two books, so already being on my second book in July right now *jiggles head* is actually making me feel kinda badass!!
 Anyway the goal is to read books, with six being ones you choose and your favourite one being sent/given to you by another person. You don't have to do the last bit but it's a little somethinnnng somethinnnng!

Based on a true story, the scenes are ignited by the illustrations that circulated Nigeria during the 1960s of the Biafran war. Ngozi perpetuates you through the journey of the lives of Odenigbo, a mathematician well suited and booted who's infatuated with the beautiful and meek Olanna, who has already unsettled Odenigbo's enthusiastic houseboy, as she continues to change his masters appetite and feelings. Kainene, Olanna's overly confident twin sister, who spends her time gracing the pages of African magazine, Lagos Life and has caught the eye of Richard. The reluctant writer, who has just landed in Nigeria, fresh from Britian ready to embrace everything nigerian. The novel continues to demonstrate each character's thoughts and reactions as extracts from Richard's book are revealed.

Even today, the division between religion and tribes haven't really changed, which is one the of main foundations of the novel. The North of Nigeria is still made up of the muslim Hausas and the South, mainly christian are made up of large tribes like the Yorubas and Igbos. Ever since the Nigerian Independence in 1960, division started to flare up causing frustration between the Hausa's and the Igbo's. By the time it was declared a civil war, the igbo tribe formed together to start their own country, Biafra. However by this time, oil was found and so were many natural resources making Biafra a wealthy opponent. This challenged the large colony of the Hausa tribe (regarded as the new Nigeria), which took down Biafra entirely with the aid of the British.  Ngozi paints various pictures as she enlightens us with different perceptions during this extremely dire time. She captures little moments that make you think, did this really happen?!?

However, it did. It was real and as the civil war gets closer to them, their lives drastically change with Richard, a white British man who claims to be a Biafran and is frequently intimidated by Kainene's extremely muscular army friend, Madu. Ugwu who's fascination of the British culture continues to evoke his experimentation further and both Olanna's and Odenigbo's family disapprove of their relationship.

Then Ugwu felt himself lifted above the trench, helplessly, haplessly. And when he landed, it was the force of his own weight, rather than the pain firing up his whole body, that stunned him into silence.

I've come to realise that Chimamanda Ngozi is an interesting story-teller. I say interesting because in moments of pure engagement and rush of excitement there's always a sort of pause that overwhelms me with either anxiety or hysterics with every page flick. Reading this book got me wound up in every type of emotion that is humanly possible.

Even though Ngozi is at her best when letting you enter your own during the novel by being subdued in angst and surprise, I felt that especially at the end it was rushed. The grip I once held had loosened at the start and much to the disorientation of the yearly intervals throughout the book, the middle almost completely lost me and stopped me reading. Leaving me to unravel myself out of a whirlwind as the depth of each character became more vague.
I must admit though, this book pretty much sparked up a lot of conversation during my journeys to and from London, compelling a few people to express the imagery of what the Biafran War would have looked like.

And although Ngozi was not born during the war, her voice has extruded throughout all the 433 pages. Completely unprepared for what I was to take in, I was left shell shocked with raw feelings that expressed the silent voice in this book. A voice that's beauty somehow surpasses your current feelings and moods. In a way Ngozi is a poet. Lifting you up with each thickness in Kainene's confident silhouette and Richard's fragile interior, whilst Olanna's delicate beauty is interwoven into the attachment that keeps her and Odenigbo in constant heat and fluster. The harsh spoken words that somehow genuinely make you feel connected to Ugwu as he continues to address Odenigbo as "sah" and the angel- like innocence that completely covers all altitudes of Baby. I wish I could express more about the silent voice that woke me up whilst reading this book, but I think it's up to you to capture it too.

I think i'll leave you with an extract of Richard's book also.

And whatever you do, read until the end! Don't give in to the silence in the middle where you are prone to confusion. I learnt that the rhythm of this novel is in sweet correlation with the stress, longitude and desperation of what happened during the civil war. So get lost in it.

The World Was Silent When We Died 

Did you see photos in sixty-eight
Of Children with their hair becoming rust:
Sickly patches nestled on those small heads, 
Then falling off, like rotten leaves on dust? 

Imagine children with arms like toothpicks.
with footballs for bellies and skin stretched thin.
It was kwashiorkor- difficult word,
A word that was not quite ugly enough, a sin. 

You needn't imagine. There were photos
Displayed in gloss-filled pages of your Life.
Did you see? Did gov feel sorry briefly,
Then turn round to hold your lover or wife? 

Their skin had turned the tawny of weak tea
And showed cobwebs of vein and brittle bone:
Naked children laughing, as if the man
Would not  take photos and then leave, alone