THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT OF AMSTERDAM

If you have been to Europe and not been to the Red light district in Amsterdam, then you haven't been to Europe! So they say! That was how I went to Paris and didn't die.... Why do they keep saying "See Paris and die" Sef. No doubt a beautiful city and my first trip out of Africa! OK back to Amsterdam the tourist destination for all who love (emmm.../clears throat.) The Olosho capital of the world! (I hear Italy is more notorious but I stand to be corrected ). So my curious self and my mischievous partner in crime, Amaraidika Orji along with our amiable host James Oket powered by my wonderful Nowergian Nigerian friend and brother Mike Jatto decided to see the famous Amsterdam Red Light District! So we took the long and winding road after crossing river "Holland" (can't remember the name of that river) . straight to the red light district with eagerness and excitement plus curiosity. (That kind of one that kills the cat!) Well, We endured the trek.... Hollandians i.e Dutch are so organised.... Everything in order, you have to park your car, take the beautiful boat/Ferry across the river after securing a parking space and then trek to the red light district. (No partiality)... Nothing prepared me for what I saw! Beautiful ladies, lovely shaped, nice complexion, Caucasians, Asians, etc....a few priviledged Africans who made it into the show glass. Yes ladies were displaying their gifts bestowed on them by nature/ good genes in bikini and other sexy and attractive pant and bra in show glasses that was the window to rooms were men have a taste of their 'heavens'. My mouth agape, as I watched these ladies " sell their market".. Of course the queue was long. It was like the narrow path that leads to heaven..(according to what the bible says o)..we snuggled our way through streets upon streets... Watching beautiful ladies... On the walls of the streets is written "NO F....KING PHOTOS ALLOWED HERE" and God save u if you are sighted with a camera, trying for a shot. (The prison and deportation wey dey wait for u dey for waiting room). Policemen were well positioned in strategic and conspicuous corners protecting these ladies of the nights practicing the oldest profession in the world! As we wove our way through, streets upon streets, corners upon corners.... Almost like 10 hectres of land... I admired and questioned why such beautiful ladies would choose such a "career' and how bold and confident they looked. As we moved, one of the pleasure seekers, stopped by a window...OK let me describe this window which is also a door and a show glass! Advert window! When you identify your choice (the lady that interests you) you stop by the window and beckon or knock on the glass....which leads to a room. I could see the rooms from the show glass. In most of the rooms were the necessary necessities but some were more luxurious than the others. You would see: a well laid bed, a wash section and the right lights to go with the mood. All the needed materials for a 'quickie'! So I overheard one young man bargaining for a BJ (if you no sabi, na you sabi. No be me go teach you everything jare). Anyway, a BJ (Blow Job), according to the beautiful damsel in the Show glass, costs just 40 euros.!!..40 euros is not too much for one to (clears throat) cum na...Any way, Bobo/customer was still pricing the BJ. (Some men will price anything... Shior! Ijebu man!) At the end, say 30 seconds, they reached a compromise and the door opened... ( I followed the guy with my eyes...I almost physically carried my body with him inside...but the next potential customers were nudging me to move faster or give way. So I moved. My inquisitive mind was not satisfied... I kept asking questions (you know I am a journalist, right? Asking questions is what I do)... I was told that for the guy who just secured his BJ agreement... Of course he could renegotiate the contract to accommodate the real deal. I. E sex!.which depending on the prostitute would cost at least 80 euros. The younger the lady, the more expensive...heard .carribeans were in hot demand... Not too many Africans get the pass, to be in the show glass( many of them no get paper.) I was told these ladies were so good...that for a BJ..before you say.. "Ammarggedon"... It is all over. This means that .Mr. Has arrived! So just imagine 10 BJs in 30 minutes..that's like 400 euros..in 30 Minutes!!!!!! Exchange that for the Naira in this Buhari times and you'd understand..that's about 172,000 naira... In 30 minutes ...okay, I am thinking in Naira... But that is a Deputy director's monthly salary in the Civil service! The Red light district in Amsterdam caters for every sexual need or leaning...Down the road, in another corner... Was the blue light district... Here were the givers and recievers of homosexual services ..... I wasn't really interested in seeing so much of this...but as we stood there in our "blackness" ... One oyibo brother decided that I was the one he was interested in (upon all the beautiful women in the bottle , sorry show glass) and started toasting me in "hollandis" language.. That was when I knew we had overstayed our welcome.... And so we decided to leave. But I was not still 'okay' o. I wanted to see more .. Thanks to my host who continued to steer my interest... He said there was a nudist club somewhere.. He he... Oya hanlele, let's go dia! (Lol). So we trekked back the way we came, took our lovely ferry, back to where our car was parked, and headed for the nudist club (ehn! Judgemental Nigerians...I was doing my job of investigative journalism ni o).. When we got to the nudist club... Our guy was asked to pay 80 euros.. Ladies go in free! (We are the special guests of honour)... When you pay...you get a pure white towel, go into the changing room, change into the towel...That is the only mode of dressing allowed... No panties, no bra...(i know you are wondering if i did?... Keep imagining) .. This nudist club also has a sauna and swimming pool... You can go in with ur partner...and if you feel like em...I mean if 'konji catch u...you can do IT right there in the full glare of everyone and if you don't mind sharing.... You can share as generous people heavily and sweetly rewarded in like manner. ....what the modern people call swinging! Anyways, as we were still deliberating on accepting the White towel. I saw one beautiful well shaped 'oyinbo woman walk towards me in all her gloriousness. I mean naked! With two men following on her heels! Amaka my friend had to help me close my mouth! I was still dazed when Amaka brought me back to reality! Our host had finished negotiating/chatting with the cashier/receptionist... We concluded, we won't allow him sacrifice his 80 euros for this enjoyment while we go in free. It wasn't just fair. After all I am a believer in "men and women are created equal..! I even begged Amara to help us wear the towel and gist me later but she no giree! (She didnt agree). So we left soddom and Gommorah back to the car we went....to some exotic Nigerian restaurant to go eat correct, amala wey dey smoke with soup of big fish. (.you know that kind of fish that won't allow soup see space to flex!) I thoroughly enjoyed my meal ....with the sights I had just seen playing over and over again in my mind!

Information I got

Rape is almost 0 . 1% in the Netherlands

Marijuana is legal but crime is almost 0.0%

Many men from Holland ain't very bold...they cannot 'toast' a lady, So, the red light district help ease their sexual tension, frustration and ambition. It is also a place for initiation and learning the art/act of sex.

The Government of Netherlands contribute to ensuring that the Red light districts function optimally.

It is a revenue earner/a tourist haven of sort as tourist from all over the world troop in there to satisfy their needs. Be it sexually, relaxation, sight seeing, adventure or curiosity.

Many men and women are happy in Netherlands... So no time for crime

The place provides jobs and revenue for the prostitutes and their manager and the country in the form of tax!

The govt. Is also able to control diseases and crime!

All the prostitutes are registered and traceable...

Lessons I learnt.

Hmm.. It is good to go out o!

Marijuana is illegal in Nigeria but people still smoke and buy Crime is on the high side

Prostitution is illegal but men and women still sneak out to patronise prostitutes

What this means is that they can't access good health need and attention... So HIVs and STDs can spread unchecked and rapidly....( As our men no wan kuku hear word! )

Police can't police our red light zones...do we even have them? I know there is the famous Allen Avenue .and girls lined up on the streets of Isaac john etc... And some hotels offering covert sex services.

What this means is that diseases go unchecked and can become viral...a good recipe and avenue for contacting and contracting HIVs and STDs.

And since people with the above are shamed and stigmatised... The chain of spread goes unabated

Biggest lesson

so much hypocrisy in Africa...we are all holy! But we are wicked to ourselves

We pretend like these things don't exist but they do and we will continue to ignore But practice and patronise them for many years to come.

I am still drawing lessons ....some negative, some positives...

Please feel free to share but don't plagiarise!

Thank you! Make I come dey go!

Titi Olademehin

BOARDING A TRAIN IN EUROPE

A DARE TO SEE THE WORLD

A dare to see the world

LEAVING  MY COMFORT ZONE

Leaving home for an unfamiliar place can be scary! But then what can be  more thrilling than experiencing a world so diverse and blessed such as the one we live in.  I remember my trip to Egypt renowned to be the birth place of civilization....Well, you might want to twitch your nose at that,.But relics of ancient stories and living of a people who could have systematically crafted our now are scattered around the country. The pyramids of Giza which speaks of a meticulously put together work of brilliant architecture, the Sphinx and lots more. I had ofcourse heard stories; very unpleasant ones. It was even more scary watching the international news stations tell about an uprising and street protests. Arabs are not welcoming to Blacks, I was told. the fear was real! I was reluctant to get on the plane.  They don't like non moslems, I kept reminding myself. Tossing and turning on my bed gearing myself up to turning down the offer of a visit. However, the moment I got off the airplane to a welcome I didn't envisage, my resolve was softened. Lodging at a hotel where I am greeted with "saba al heir"; (Good morning in Arabic) was heartwarming.  Well, perhaps they ain't that bad! Okay food? I won't lie, I felt it was horrible at first but I kind of found my way around it. The thrills began with visits to exciting historical spots such as the hanging church where Jesus was said to have been hidden when his life was sought by Herod, according to the Bible. Cairo was like an average every day city back home, even though more developed. The people went to work rushing, traffic was always heavy and most Egyptians couldn't understand my English. They called me Africa! wow! I wondered why. because Egypt also happens to be in Africa...unless ofcourse they think they are in the middle east or Asia. it's Amazing how little they know about where I came from. The Locals would glare at me unashamably. ..and the bold ones would come up to me. "can I have a picture?" They'd say. In my heart I wonder the stories they'd tell about our pictures.  Visiting the local market was another challenge I conquered! Yes I am different, so automatically, I am a suspect! Men daring to get close just to experience being with someone different from their race, always got me cranky, curious and cracking up. "Habibi" they called . Habibi in Arabic means " My love! Oh! How i loved to be called that name. Made me feel beautiful. Alexandria, another city in Egypt is definitely a turn on! better food, darker people and fortresses of old Egypt past! I left Egypt changed and unafraid, My impression of that part of the world edited and formatted!

BATTLE OF THE MIND

THE BATTLE OF THE MIND.
Over the years I have come to realise and accept that the mind controls the body. Sometimes, I think that the entirety of my being is a product of what goes on in my mind. No wonder the bible says that "as a man thinks in his heart so is he
 The mind is the seat of the heart and the heart is that part of the body that thinks, that feels, that could be hurt, that could feel pain, even though not physically inflicted. As I ponder on this thoughts and write this, my mind takes me back to my days in the university. I remember one day, I made up my mind....i just wanted to be the best...at least in my class...perhaps in the entire school....Doubts ran through my mind, punctuating my hope.....but as I thought more about it, the more determined I became....it occupied my mind for days and nights....I didn't even have time to think about clothes, make ups and other things that my contemporaries considered chic, stylish or invogue. I was almost oblivious of the beauty many said I had. sometimes I even forgot to eat....what was on my mind? I just wanted my CGPA to be 4.00 point nothing more, nothing less. So, I wrote my vision(what my mind was seeing) on the wall of my bunk! CGPA 4 point! How to get it!! Read!. Everyday I would wake up and look at it...I became uncomfortable with sleeping at will....sometimes even when I slept, i'd wake up with a start...and reach for my book...i started looking for ways to be by myself to read! No one was spurring me! No parent, no friend just that unseen force! My mind. There was almost a certain kind of fear...fear of defeating myself! At the end of the session, the results were released and lo and behold I had 4.00 point! Nothing more, nothing less! Perhaps if I had aimed higher...I could have achieved more. Today, I am a mother and wife! Another scenario painted itself in my mind! Anytime I have an assignment or something I have to do that my mind focuses on, I just find forces pushing me towards working on it. I like my sleep, but when things are so impressed on my mind, it wouldn't just let my body enjoy the luxury of the so much desired sleep! Even sleep refuses to cooperate sometimes....as my mind keeps it awake! What am I saying? The mind is the seat of power! Even religion is a thing of the mind. All religion aim to control the mind! And the mind controls our actions or in actions. ! What is on your mind as you read this. You can be anything, if you set your heart to it! I can be the president of Nigeria...I can be the good wife, I can be the bad girl! I can allow someone sweep me off my feet...I can refuse to talk to someone. I can hate, I can love! .it's all in my mind..first, take a hold of your mind! conquer the mind...choose what goes into it. ensure it dwells on good thoughts and good things! ensure it aims high and high and as u achieve what you aim for, aim higher! Talking about higher reminds me of the most high! God almighty! He said in the bible. My thoughts towards you are of good, to bring you to an expected end! This means that I occupy God's mind as well! But the only way I can accept this, is if my mind accepts it. . What occupies your mind as you go about your daily living! Look again! Perhaps...that is why you are where you are, what you are or who you are. My name is Titi Olademehin Bamigboye. I refuse letting my mind tell me I am ordinary! Yes sometimes my mind quarrels with me. It tells me! You are proud! What do you think you are? You are not all that. You Know! But I tell my mind back. I am unique! Special
..I am just me! only one Me in this world. Yea! My mind says so!

THE JOURNALIST AS A LOVER OF THE PEOPLE

Creating trust in the Media

“How can you

Make people trust you?

As a journalist you should be educated and Informed:

in tune to developments in society, conscious of how basic law and economics work, in tune to interests of the public. This way you inform your audiences to make better

Decisions that will serve their interest, and they Will trust you.”                                       

           

 2012 Center for International Media ETHICS (www.j-ethinomics.org)

By Titi Bamigboye

Just like every human relationship, the more truthful and open a partner is, the tendency for more trust to be built in that relationship.  Sometimes however, for the good of the relationship, one partner withholds some information from the other because he feels that it is not important or might affect the relationship negatively.  The Media is in a relationship with the public. In fact the Media exist for the public. It is the duty of the Journalist to look out for the people’s interest. The Journalist does this through the information he passes across and how he passes them across. In passing information across, the Journalist must understand his environment, he must be knowledgeable about what works and what doesn’t given the written and the unwritten codes that guide living in that society. He must think about how his news piece would impact his society and how beneficial such a piece is to them. The Journalist must rise beyond just passing information he thinks the people need to projecting how the information would affect their actions. Just like a lover would go to lengths to find a gift that he thinks his partner would appreciate and need,  the Journalist goes to length to uncover, dig out or source information just for the consumption of the public.   There is a kind of hunger or thirst for information that needs to be assuaged, the media organization that satisfies this need the most, earns the trust and attention of the people. This trust is what yields benefits for the medium because the people will have more confidence investing their resources in such a medium. The Journalist must also know that he is in competition with other mediums…Therefore, to sustain the existence and usefulness of his Medium, he must earn the trust of the public by consistently satisfying the people’s need for information.

THE YOUTH AND DEMOCRACY

Our destiny is in our hands but are we willing to take and own it. So many youths don't even know that they have the power to change things, though it will come with a price. Look at the North African nations, can that be in Nigeria? the truth is, our leaders are afraid should the youth speak out. But fortunately for them, the Nigerian youth is so layed back and 'spineless'' (sorry)...so they got nothing to worry about. The youth will rather go into criminal ventures than get involved in a true democratic struggle. Which way Nigeria?

SHATTERED BLISS

Life can be so funny, but this is not a laughing matter at all. Here I am crippled and disfigured for life. Waiting for a death that has so far eluded me. It can’t be me here, bedridden for two years, crippled and disfigured for life. Longing to slowly drift away into that state where there was no pain. To think that I once had the world at my feet. Born into a wealthy family with parents who ensured that we had the best of everything. I had a perfect life with everything going for me, until I met my doom; until I decided to marry Tunde, my first and only love.

As a child I remember dreaming of when I would become an adult and on one cozy evening, my Prince Charming wouldcome sweep me off my feet to a place where we would live happily ever after. Too much of watching TV soaps, love stories and reading romance novels perhaps made me think that marriage was a bed of roses; a world filled with so much love, companionship, children and all the niceties life has got to offer. How mistaken i was. The dream of a beautiful married life was just but a dream.

I met Tunde at the university. I was a fresher who had just gotten admission to read Mass Communication in the prestigious University of Ibadan. He looked dashingly handsome and harmless; I was smitten at first glance. The chemistry was banging, the smile ravishing and I fell helplessly, drowning in the ocean of love.

Tunde was a final year Medical student. Words could not describe how I felt when he asked me to be his girl. Of course I agreed without thinking twice.  I felt like a queen to gain the attention of one of the most sought after bachelor on Campus. It was a thing of pride to be seen walking side by side; with his arms around  my shoulder. I let go of my shy tendencies as he would kiss me publicly, not minding whose ox was gored.  My friends warned me to be careful but I would not listen. I gave him everything: my money, my body, my life.

Tunde was everything a woman would wish for a husband. He could never go wrong. I was so smitten and terribly in love. I cried my eyes sore when the end of the session came and he had to leave the school on completion of his degree programme. My joy knew no bound when on his last night in school, he proposed to me. I accepted to be his wife. I had been waiting for this all my life.

After Tunde left the school, I could barely concentrate on my studies. I looked forward to his visits and longed to be in his arms again. We got married three years later at a beautifully organized society wedding. The VIPs trooped in in numbers. My dad presented a gift of a Hummer Jeep to us to the admiration of guests. Everyone wished us a fruitful and blissful married life.

We set out on our life journey together to fulfill the dreams I had longed for all my life.  I never bargained for what was to become my lot five months into our marriage. Everything changed! Tunde; my husband became a monster. The patience and love we shared disappeared and life became a living hell. Tunde would come home completely drunk, smelling like a skunk. Sleeping with other women became his favourite past time and I became his punching bag. He derived pleasure in inflicting injuries on my body. I dared not question his moves as he’d beat me to unconsciousness. I decided to ignore his unfaithfulness and romance with other ladies . I made up my mind to endure the hell I had brought upon my self by marrying him

Tunde came home one night, drunk as usual. I had gotten used to it and so, did  not flinch. But then he started asking for his food. Since it was so late and I wasn’t expecting him home for the night, I had prepared only the food I could eat to avoid wasting it. So, I told him nicely that there was nothing at home at the moment for him to eat.  Suddenly, Tunde started calling me all sorts of names. I begged him to allow me go and cook something but he wouldn’t listen. He started beating me. He beat me to stupor and perhaps thought he could have more fun by teaching me the lesson of my life. He tied me to a mchair. Though I was unconscious, my senses came alive at a smell…could this be kerosene, I wondered in my spirit. That was when everything became black.

Here I am in this hospital.  I could have been dead..thanks to neighbours who came to my rescue…why would Tunde want me dead? Was it the alcohol? Or was it his darkened devilish soul? I can only wonder in pain. Where is my first love, My boyfriend; My Tunde.