The Nigerian Pastor
Saturday, April 05, 2008
The Nigerian Pastor
My hair has been growing out of control for a long enough time now, so I decided to treat the patch of hair on my head to a good trimming downstairs. More than just to tidy up the unbearable mess on my head, there was a part of me that wanted to be a constant customer to the saloon downstairs, afraid that it'd suffer the fate of most of the stores that ever opened inside my estate for the past seventeen years or so. It's probably the fengshui of the place, or something to do with an invisible force of nature. Even an ordinary convenience store cannot survive the lack of customers, let alone a saloon set up by a hair stylist barely out of school and a diploma certificate still warm after being spat out from the printer. I like the idea of a saloon downstairs, it makes things a whole lot easier for me as well as the other lazier population in the neighborhood. Patronizing the shop occasionally is an effort, on my part, to keep the saloon up and running.
My hair has been growing out of control for a long enough time now, so I decided to treat the patch of hair on my head to a good trimming downstairs. More than just to tidy up the unbearable mess on my head, there was a part of me that wanted to be a constant customer to the saloon downstairs, afraid that it'd suffer the fate of most of the stores that ever opened inside my estate for the past seventeen years or so. It's probably the fengshui of the place, or something to do with an invisible force of nature. Even an ordinary convenience store cannot survive the lack of customers, let alone a saloon set up by a hair stylist barely out of school and a diploma certificate still warm after being spat out from the printer. I like the idea of a saloon downstairs, it makes things a whole lot easier for me as well as the other lazier population in the neighborhood. Patronizing the shop occasionally is an effort, on my part, to keep the saloon up and running.
Anyway, so I headed downstairs for a haircut bright and early today, and this time it was a different hairstylist again. I didn't catch her name, but she was a middle-aged woman whom I have never actually seen before. But I usually have absolute trust in hair stylist, letting them use my head as an experiment table of sorts. "Have fun", I usually say, and then I'd close my eyes to prepare for the worst. Things usually turn out pretty acceptable for the most part, but today's hairstyle turned out to be exceptionally good. I decided to just allow my hair to stay that way all the way till I reached the school, and the positive feedbacks convinced me to make it stay this way for a very long time. I guess this is an official goodbye to the spike I've been have for the past year or so, and it is time to welcome the brand new me into the house. More on my evolution of hair in the subsequent posts.
It's Friday, and thank everybody for that. I did a little dance in class today, simply because today is the end of a week, a time to let loose and go a little crazy in the financial department. I decided to gorge myself silly today, to splurge my money on the most sinful food I can find in town and then just eat myself dumb for the next three hours after school ended. Since I had a craving for cheese the previous night, April suggested for us to go to California Kitchen Pizza, the one over at Forum. I've always known about that place from my frequent visits to the Coffee Bean just opposite, but I have never gotten a chance to pay it a visit. I remember the good old days in high school when the class would head down to Ang Mo Kio central to grab a bite in Pizza Hut, when Timothy and Dudley used to engage themselves in pizza-eating challenges and when buffets still existed. Anyway, Pizza Hut and all the other pizza restaurants in Singapore can officially kiss my ass, because the pizzas that they make in California Kitchen Pizza is the kind of pizzas they make in heaven, and I am not even at the pasta yet. They make the best pizzas ever - period. Do try it out.
So April and I were joined by Kerri and her brother, Jerry, who just returned from our school's main campus in Buffalo, New York. He went over there after studying for a few semesters in Singapore as well, and he became our Wikipedia for the life in Buffalo for the most part of the dinner. April is going over to Buffalo for the spring semester next year, and hopefully I am able to head over there by August next year as well for my second last - and maybe the last - semester. Hearing his description of the place and the people just got my blood all pumped up to my head, and there was a sudden urge to drop everything at hand and just head over to the place right now. More than the enjoyable dinner with a bunch of great people, it was an interesting conversation with Jerry, and the great insight into the life of an American student. He was there for six months, and told himself that he should have went there a whole lot earlier. I totally see myself saying the same things by the end of six months, but then there are things that I cannot let go here in Singapore either. That thought, however, went out of the window when I met the Nigerian Pastor on the way home.
It has been a while since I have been in town, if you do not count the other time when the bunch of us dropped by town to catch a movie. So I was indulging myself in the solitude for a while, soaking in the people and the scenery while I blasted music into my ears. It was almost seven in the evening, and the traffic was already building up by the time I got to the bus stop just in front of the Thai embassy. My own business was minded by myself when a curious black figure appeared in the corner of my eyes, a look of trouble and confusion in his face. It was a black man dressed in a blue button-down shirt and an old beaten bag with straps on the verge of being torn apart under its own weight. He stared intently at the bus guide mounted on back of the bus stop, then stared even harder into his guide book, and that happened back and forth for a long time until he decided to ask somebody for aid. Of course, at that time, I still had my earphones plugged in, and I couldn't hear a word he was saying, and I didn't want to eavesdrop on somebody else either. That ended when he turned to me for help, his white pearly eyes stared straight into mine.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Do you know where Rafogayle High Skool is?" I stared at him for some time, and expected him to repeat the name of the school he was looking for. But his African accent was thick, and it was difficult to discern his words with the noise of the people and the traffic all around. He repeated it a few more times, but then I couldn't understand what he was saying, even though he spoke fluent English - his accent was just way too thick for me to understand. He then went on to two girls behind me to ask for directions, and they somehow figured out what he was trying to say to me before - Raffles Girls High School. So I interrupted the girls and told him that I knew how to get there, and since it was on my way home from town I'd show him where to alight. The man smiled at me and thanked me for my "kindness", quote unquote, and breathed a sigh of relief along with the girls as they retreated back into the crowd, giggling.
105 came soon afterwards, and the both of us squeezed onto the bus along with the rest of the commuters who were trying to get home. The man was carrying a whole bunch of groceries in plastic bags, and he had two guide books in one hand on the verge of falling through his fingers. We talked a bit on the bus ride to wherever he was going, and I found out that he was actually going for a prayer at a place called Chelsea's something, just next to the stop after the one at Raffles' Girls. He was a pastor from Nigeria apparently, been in Singapore for the past six months or so. It has been a pleasant trip on his part, still feeling his way around the city and trying to get used to moving about without a car. I told him about how difficult it was for me to get used to Singapore when I first got here as well, and we started talking about being foreigners in a strange land somehow, which I thought to be interesting. His perception of where I came from - Taiwan - is that it imported a lot of rice to Nigeria, which I found to be rather amusing. My perception of Nigeria is that it has a rather plain looking flag and a decent soccer team, and that's about it.
Along the way, I could tell that he was anxious about taking a strange bus that was heading to a place he wasn't quite sure of. He had his bags piled up on his thighs like those pyramids of canned food you find at supermarkets. His hands were still tightly grasped around the guidebook, as if my verbal guarantee that I'd bring him to wherever he was going wasn't good enough. I guess in a way, I can understand how he must have been feeling, trusting your directions to a complete stranger in a completely strange land. I guess that is just how one would feel when thrown into an uncharted territory, probably like how I'd be feeling like when I do get my own two feet on American soil in a little more than a year's time. Disorientated, confused, and really scared about things, I can see those emotions lurking underneath the excitement and the enthusiasm. I cannot wait to get to New York myself, but at the same time there is still that lingering fear of leaving my comfort zone. I am a creature of comfort, and by that I am not talking about fluffy cushions or comfortable beds. I guess I am speaking of familiarity, and the security that comes with a place you know at the back of your hands.
Hearing about the campus in Buffalo got me even more pumped up for it, but at the same time I pictured myself taking a public transport, or sitting in the lecture theater and looking just as lost as the Nigerian pastor that was seated in front of me on the bus. He eventually found the place and got off without a problem, thanking me for the umpteenth time before alighting with all his bags of groceries and guidebooks. I felt like I did something good, that I helped somebody today - and I only hope that the same can be said about my trip to Buffalo in a years' time. It is still a long time away, and I am not the kind of person who likes to plan anything more than a week from now. Still, with the endless opportunities laid out before me, I cannot deny that the excitement has finally taken over the fear. Buffalo, New York, anyone?
This entry was posted
on Saturday, April 05, 2008 at 12:56 AM.
You can skip to the end and leave a response.
