Haters, Admirers And My Biro

Wake up everybody
No more sleeping in bed
No more backward thinking
Time for thinking ahead
The world’s change so very much
For what it use to be
There is so much hatred
War and poverty

----Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes


"I thought you said it's happening."

"What's happening?"

"Here we go again. You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"What you said earlier."

"What did I say earlier?"

"That your biro is mightier>"

"You should know better; and, of course, it is the biggest weapon. The people are talking; and they are, on a serious note, and by all means, pulling the bull by the horn. It is happening in Tunis. It is happening in Cairo. It's about to be happening in Jordan and Algeria. It's the real deal. It is the voice of the people. The network is fantastic. Some call it a political reform. Some have called it a revolution through the powerful means of the biro. President Barack Obama has been watching as all the events unfold. And, eventually, Hosni Mubarak threw in the towel. You see how it goes?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess it's about time, huh?"

"Of course, it's about time but not with the chairman of the house."

"Which chairman of the house are you talking about?"

"Oh, you mean you don't know? The house chairman who runs the affairs of state and would gather the fat cats and his colleagues within his uncivilized enclave to boycott all boycotables."

"How did Mazi Mbonu Ojike pop up in this discourse?"

"You tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"Boycott the biro!"

"You see, that is not possible. The biro is mightier than you could ever imagine, which is why it is now getting down. But tell it not on the streets of Abuja, Owerri and Awka. The fat cats don't want to hear it because they will make no meaning out of it."

"Who are the fat cats you keep talking about? Am I missing somethin?"

"Nope! The fat cats are the Omemgbojis of Emekuku and the Oshimiris whose flowing gowns and haul of titles speaks volumes when they meet in their respective huts of who is king and who is not king in their uncivilized world of erecting edifices on dusty alleys without street numberings and disturnbingly an avalanche of power outages."

"What the hell is that?"

"What the hell is what?"

"The jargon, fat cats?"

"Well, the fat cats and house chairman are 'just' full of it, wondering what school of thought one came from for the fact they are limited in training."

"What are you talking about, man?!"

"Obviously, the people are talking and sooner than later you will be seeing it the world over."

"You mean the fat cats and the house chairman?"

"Not at all. The fat cats and house chairman are midgets in what I'm talking about. I'm talking about something of a greater capacity."

"Would it be boycott all boycottables as in Mbonu Ojike's own word, to negate a colonial mandate during the constitutional conferences?"

"Naaaaaaaa, it has some kind of similarities, though."

"Look, man, I'm done with you. I have no idea what you have been talking about."

"Ok, now, I have exhausted all my options of a research project.

"What research project?"

"I am conducting interviews on our war veterans, victims of the numerous pogroms and elite Igbo Diaspora to enable our history not to vanish from the face of the earth."

"Maybe you should consult the house chairman and fat cats to fund your research projects."

"Are you doublespeaking now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about a research project for Igbo common good and you are refering to the boycottables. I don't get it!"

"Well, you have a great idea but I'm afraid and I must warn you that the people you are talking about will tell you to move on and forget about the pogrom. And If you don't cease and desist, they will start insulting your mother, your father, your brothers (if you have any), your sisters, your family members and your entire kindred."

"Holy Moses! What kind of people would insult your entire clan just for your freedom to express your views on paper?"

"Because you keep creating an outrage."

"What outrage o?"

"The stuff that you write. The thought-provoking stuff."

"But I'm telling the truth, now?"

"You are right. The truth hurts!"

"How about the reptiles?"

"Which reptiles?"

"The dangerous reptiles that crawl out when they smell my biro."

"I'm out, man!"

"Good! Gotcha!"

Since I have been reading all kinds of literatures and various kinds of journals from growing up, I must admit, I have tossed quite a number of thought provoking issues, and quite a great sum had been polarized in responses, chiefly, the ones not too long ago: "Lagos Cafe's Arrogance and Horrible Services is a Culinary Disaster," "Donald Duke Launches his Presidential Campaign in Los Angeles," "Death of an Igbo Club in Greater Los Angeles," "Blind Followers of Donald Duke," and the list goes on and on.

What the responses, the haters, to be precise, incited, was for yours truly, this writer, to go bonkers into mudslinging with them from what I had written and looking forward to a coherently, intellectual rebuttal based on the subject matter rather than the rantings typical of a clueless bunch who had fallen from the standard and had fallen apart. From that shred of lack of substance in responses, I moved beyond ridicule.

The painful truth is, taking a closer look at what I had penned, the haters did what they were good at in their attempt to be relevant regarding their thoughts on a topic that pops up. For instance, a response from one of Lagos Cafe's admirers when I criticized the eatery:

"Mr Ambrose, How much did Veronica's kitchen give you for the free advertisement. I am sure you eat free food any time you're there, bcos from the tone of your write-up, Veronica must have given you a lot of dollars."

With such inflammatory remarks, wouldn't it be necessary to see my humble self not worried on a crop of issues that shouldn't have arose by all accounts putting into perspectice how it all began and if the ideology was valid? But the thing is, many accused me of sleeping with Veronica Ogbeide; their reasons why I spoke well of her eatery (Veronica's Kitchen); and spoke ill of Ronke Bernadette, who then ran Lagos Cafe on the 14000 block of Crenshaw Blvd. in Gardena, because of the former's love affair with me. Fact is, if Veronica wasn't becoming in her services the numerous times I stopped by to eat out, without question, I would have expressed my dissatisfaction of a service not worthy.

Don't get me wrong. There were admirers who read many of the pieces I had written over time, digesting the entire contents and seeing the topics by way of reporting, analysis, narratives, storytelling, satire and things like that coherently put together on the issues of the day, with sustained accuracy, thus applauding a well done work.

One other controversial affair was about the outraged Donald Duke followers who had "observed" my write-up on the presidential aspirant as a poisonous political stunt to stop Duke or have him throw in the towel for his presidential ambitions he had tailored to sell to a vulnerable and gullible Los Angeles-area-Nigeria populace, the ones I had thought were schooled in the elementary ABCD's of the basics in academia, but sadly unable and unwilling to read, comprehend and to think, critically. And it all began when Duke popped up on my list of literary works when I had expected a free-floating, acclaimed public intellectuals to engage said article that was based on facts to be challenged in that regard, rather than the rigidity one saw at the symposium.

Apparently, Duke's presidential campaign, his blind followers and a bunch that lacked societal vision, have died naturally. Where are Duke's coattails? Where are Duke's followers who knew everything about presidential politics? Where are my critics and all their rantings for my clear vision that Duke was going no where with his bid by starting his campaign from a clueless and politically impotent Diaspora? Where are the acclaimed activists and technocrats who had at any time in their lives played significant roles to show their work of activism by way of demonstrations to challenge corrupt regimes and things like that? Where are they; the ones of bigotry and hatred, who felt challenged from a simplistically, truthful pieces on the social ills of its people?

Enter the rantings of a confused bunch responding to the commentary "Death of an Igbo Club in Greater Los Angeles." In literary terms and disturbed by a Igbo Diaspora to get things done, things that depicts Diaspora as we have seen elsewhere; immigrant groups that established societies and even founded countries at the expense of indigenous populations, often in their stead by way of pragmatism and organizational effectiveness. I have caused commotion when the above-mentioned article was lambasted by a group when I wrote clearly of a bunch tainted with the stain of original sin, from which it can never be absolved:


"A mentally, impotent and unchallenging bunch could not come up with anything other than picnic in its engagement. Things like providing employment opportunities and having economic impact within its community, as in all communities in Diaspora who are doing stuff. From Pico Blvd. and Fairfax Ave. to Olympic Blvd. and Fairfax toward the Miracle Mile on the Wilshire Corridor, sits Little Ethiopia and all Ethiopian owned businesses. On the Westside, is the Armenian community whose history of genocide is, today, in the books, from mounted pressure groups. On the Eastside lies China Town, Little Tokyo, the Hispanics and series of communities dwelling together spreading all down the San Gabriel Valley. And, of course, there is Little Vietnam in Westminster and other Asian communities in and around the Long Beach areas."

I think I'm done with this and if anyone expects me to join a band of blind leaders like the Chief Priest would put it, "Big Blind Country," it will never happen, and they can have it!

No Nonsense!

Ekwuchaa nam!

Culinary Correctness: Jerry's Place Restaurant

"Have you been to Jerry's Place yet?"

"What's that?"

"Oh, you mean you don't know and haven't heard about it?"

"No, I haven't! What's that, and what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the latest Nigerian joint in town. There, the food is great and you will love it. You will be glad you did.

"Oh yea'?"

"Oh yeah, man!"

"Hmmmmm, so, where is this new restaurant located? Is it around my neck of the woods?"

"Yeah man, in Hawthorne!"

"Where in Hawthorne? I know the one on Imperial and Hawthorne Boulevard run by the Cameroonian lady had been out of business a while ago. So, which one, and where exactly in Hawthorne?"

"It's 'past' the one on Imperial and Hawthorne, all the way past the police station, on the corner of El Segundo and Hawthorne Boulevard."

"That use to be my hood until the spooky bad cop image Hawthorne Police began their tussle with civil society to raise money by all means for a desperate, broke, City of Hawthorne, remember?"

"Yeah, long time ago, I remember."

"So, you want us to go there now, on your tab?"

"No, I'm busy, maybe next time."

"No wahala! Nothing spoil!"

"I'll let you know when I'm ready."

"Ok now, we go holla!"

That was the 'kinda' chit-chat I had on the phone with structural designer, Ben Tokumbo Obafunwa, who had in the past called me all sorts of names when I criticized the horrible services of Ronke Bernadette's Lagos Cafe.

A couple of days after our chit-chat on Jerry's Place, Obafunwa called me again to find out if I had stopped by the newly arrived Nigerian eatery in Greater Los Angeles everybody is talking about:

"You don go the place?"

"Which place?"

"The place wey I bin tell you naw."

"Nooooo, u know say na money now for dis kain economy wey don dabaru kpatakpata!"

"Ah, you wey be baba nla."

"I see say you won begin run your mouth again! Basket mouth!"

"Ah, make man no talk o before you begin your wahala."

"Ok now, we go yan!"

It was like a must that I should visit Jerry's Place even though for some reason -- doctor's warning of high cholesterol, greasy Nigerian dishes -- that my intake of anu ewu, goat meat, nkwobi and all that ngwongwo stuff be limited. But 'man must wack,' you know! Also, there was no mention of a do-nothing, jumbled and bellicose Nd'House of Los Angeles gathering in this new eatery, which showed an indication of originality.

However, as it happened, and for a new eatery much had been said and talked about, I made up my mind to check it out. Not much of a drive though, and placing my order of okra soup, midly spiced, coupled with mixed meat and a bowl of pounded yam, I called Obafunwa to join me, on my tab, at Jerry's Place. Obafunwa ordered olugbo soup, bitter leaf and a variety of meat with dried fish and said "I will be there shortly." He arrived in about twenty-five minutes and his food was ready. Mine, too, was in order as justice was done the normal way -- eating with our fingers and swallowing the pounded yam, orishirishi soup pasted. It's tasty, Obafunwa would say, and I would agree.

Jerry's Place Restaurant, located at 12631 Hawthorne Boulevard in the City of Hawthorne, is run by Nnobi, Nigerian-born Geraldine Chinwe Okafor. Growing up in Uruala where she attended secondary school, she was friendly, showing an element of dignity on how to operate an effective and efficient eatery by way of engaging her customers into relative discussion, knowing who they are, and getting to ask questions about her service.

On my second visit, I had called and ordered a combination of okra and egusi soup to be swallowed with cooked, ground oat flour. "Your food will be ready in twenty minutes," she said. I arrived on time and my food was ready. Without a doubt, I liked the food and service, which is what I had looked for in a typical African-related restaurant, excellent customer relations. Practically, customers were trooping in picking up their orders of rice and stew, Jollof rice, fried akara, olugbo soup, porridged yam, ogbono soup, cooked, sliced cassava roots, what we Nd'Igbo call akpunkoro or abacha depending on dialect, and other varieties of menu too numerous to mention.

So far, Ms. Okafor, owner of Jerry's Place Restaurant is not doing badly, and for a start-up, and in these hard times, a B+ in my assessment.

Jerry's Place Fine African Cuisine is open from Monday to Saturday and closed on Sundays. For contact:

Jerry's Place Fine African Cuisine
12633 Hawthorne Boulevard
Hawthorne, CA 90250
Tel: 310-970-0411
Fax: 310-970-0042
email: jerryplace13@yahoo.com

Da Week and Da Happening

Whoo boy, what a week that had begun from checking out an eatery and learning a whole lot about the cowardice Yoruba nation that collaborated in slaughtering my kith and kin to ending up in a forum I have been asked to play a significant role in organizing The Fat Waller Musical Show conceived by Richard Maltby, Jr. and Murray Horwitz; and musically staged and choreographed by Arthur Faria. The Tony Award winning Fats Waller Musical "Ain't Misbehaving" at the Ahmanson Theatre on Temple Street in Downton Los Angeles will run through May 31, 2009, and then following would be the Summer jams and the line-ups.

Well, it's good to know that Ronke Bernadette, owner of Lagos Cafe, has admitted showing some improvements after my visit there a week ago. She has been paying homage to the local churches here in Los Angeles invoking my write-up that God sent me. Patrons have been flooding her eatery ever since that piece, "Lagos Cafe's Arrogance and Horrible Services is a Culinary Disaster." I hope her customer relations has improved, too, because it was zero during my visits. It's time to appreciate the fine work of investigative journalism even though the dummies who had no idea what they were writing about will never realize that.

There has been talk that Seun Kuti will be visiting the City of Angels again following his fantastic and successful performance last Summer at the California Plaza in Downtown Los Angeles. I'm yet to confirm that but when I'm in the know, you surely will get every detail. Seun is just the carbon copy of Baba, the Chief Priest, Fela Kuti, and the flow of his music is awesome.

With a series of activities as the summer jams approaches, a Jewish friend of mine did not find it funny why I missed the Fun and Wacky Passover Adventure at the Shalom Institute in Malibu, California, last week. The event featured Carl Weintraub and music performed by Robbo and Cindy Paley. This guy is a fellow we hold intellectual discourse into the night about the Holocaust six million Jews perished and the pogrom in which the Hausa-Fulanis in collaboration with the Yoruba nation that stinks slaughtered innocent civilians, eviscerated pregnant women, and coerced and stole Igbo properties. Like a Jew learning from the Synagogue that "to forget is to proclaim Hitler innocent," so also is to forget is to proclaim the Hausa-Fulanis and the Yorubas innocent after slautering my people in the most brutal way.

The Twitter nation is waxing strong by the second. It is the real deal. It is the talk of town. Even my good friend, Austen Oghuma, talks about it all the time and how America is a great nation with its brilliant pattern of creativity. That I agree. He is hooked to it and so is everybody. It's Twitter and nothing else. If you follow me, I will follow you. How about that and a way to connect?

For some reasons, I haven't been following up with the few remaining games in the NBA and I'm quite sure it's because of Lakers' inconsistency, allowing King James and his gang to take the lead, overall. But I still pick my LA Lakers to come out smoking, in the long run. We'll see, as the whole drama unfolds. Go Lakers, go!

Oh, before I forget, Ugandan model, actress and performer, Imat Akelo-Opio will be gracing the cover of our debut magazine in an exclusive interview.

Bruce Springsteen who turns 60 in September is now on the road with his E Street Band to support their latest project "Working on a Dream." I haven't watched the guy live lately but I sure do have the ticket for his April 16 jam at the Los Angeles Sports Arena. I will be there. That's my hood and I know it's going to be a hell of a show knowing Bruce for his activism and the way he's loved.

That's da happening and whatever happens keep on twitting. It's good for the soul.

Lagos Cafe's Arrogance and Horrible Services is a Culinary Disaster

The problem with what happened to me this past Sunday afternoon, March 29, 2009, was that, I had woken up and had developed an appetite to eat some home kind of made food; the ofe olugbo, bitter leaf soup, coupled with the orishirishi, the ingredients and varieties of meats and dried fish that comes along with it.

Actually, there was no pub-crawling the previous night, quite unusual, which normally should have justified my quest to fill up my stomach from partying hard. And, precisely, not that I even went to see a show ending up hanging out where I'm not suppose to have been getting up the next day with some hangovers, headaches and things like that.

I was clean and sober. It's just that I did not feel like going to the popular Tak's Coffee House around my neck of the woods for lunch. I wanted bitter leaf soup and garri to do justice to my stomach. And here I am in my journey. And what a way to learn a lesson.

I had made up my mind to go to different Nigerian or African restaurants in the LA area, a place I am not a regular. Feeling like swallowing garri with a paste of deliciously prepared bitter leaf soup, I landed at Lagos Cafe run by Ronke Bernadette, located on the 1400 block of Crenshaw Boulevard in Gardena, California. It took me about half an hour to get there, driving through the Crenshaw thoroughfare of "Black Township", and combing on the cultural festivities of Leimert Park where a series of African American women dance and beat the drums on Sundays as if it is a spiritual revival. Crenshaw Blvd., from my destination to Gardena stretches through four different suburbs -- "The Jungle" around the Mid City area, Inglewood, Hawthorne and Gardena.

I was hungry and had anticipated a good meal, especially when breezing into a place I'm not a regular. But restaurants of the African ilk in the Los Angeles area are not just regular cuisines some few dollar can get you something to chew on. These are restaurants you have to spend at least 15 bucks for a regular meal, and 15 bucks for a regular meal in these days of belt-tightening is not a chicken change.

Anyways, here I go. I walked in to a place that looked totally deserted. The owner, Ronke and her friend who had told me she came from Togoland sat on one corner running their mouth -- without paying attention that a customer had arrived. I made my request: bitter leaf soup with mixed meat, dried fish and garri. I sat down and waited until only God knows when a waiter, apparently my home boy, popped up and told me my "food will soon be ready."

As it happened, my friend, Ardis Hamilton, whom I have known for many years dating back to the "read my lips" era called me, and I told him exactly where I was and how I got there. Immediately, he picked up interest to join me, in order to have a feel of a well-prepared African dish. In about 20-minutes, he was in. He was turned off right away because of the owner and her Togolese friend's attitude, loquaciously erring in French. Yes, they spoke French and did not care if a customer had arrived.

Meanwhile, I had waited long enough and my stomach was burning for some reason. I requested for some water to drink. Lagos Cafe had no water, absolutely no water for its customers which had me wonder why this garrulous woman and her friend are in business, in the first place. They drove down the street to buy some water after my request. In a restaurant and no water. Imagine!

At Veronica's Kitchen which sits on Manchester in Inglewood, the service is always great, the environment conducive and the waiters and waitresses well-behaved which is why the owner, Veronica Ogbeide, beats them all, hands down, and presumably from learning how to run a restaurant, effectively and efficiently.

However, they got my water while I waited for the so-called 'finest food' to arrive. Ardis, too, was looking forward to something special. To my friend's surprise, these talky women and the attendant who is also my home boy, changed their tone of language, all of a sudden, and just like that. Ngbati-ngbati, the normal Yoruba noise making kind of stuff, typical of a gabby Oshodi market women, became a trend, and it baffled my friend because they all knew he's a Yank as in "no speak English" a Hispanic would pretend to tell you.

My food finally came and I wanted my friend, Ardis, to taste the soup before ordering his own on my tab. Ardis has not recovered. His ass has been burning from the overseasoned habanero pepper and some other chili stuff that was used in cooking the soup.

In my own case, I'm the kind of guy who would eat up everything served and face the consequences later. Money is hard, these days, you know, but how could I have gotten myself into a situation where I now live in my restroom until the whole mess is flushed out from my system?

Not only that the service at Lagos Cafe was horrible, it was also ridiculously expensive. 20-something bucks and no leftover to take home? Come on, now, be real! At Veronica and 15-plus something bucks, you will have a whole lot of leftovers to take home, and you will be glad you did.

Lagos Cafe, Ronke, the talkative Togolese lady and my home boy, quote me, I will never be back because it really sucks, (excuse my language for I am pissed), and from my observation, you will be the last to earn a Michelin star.