Let’s talk about age, baby. Let’s talk about arugbo and egbons, let’s talk about all the backpains, all the memory losses that maybe, let’s talk about it….
I don’t know about you but it is becoming harder and harder to lift a leg out of bed in the morning, whilst the other tries to fight its way into my dunlop slippers. The truth – I’m not the sexy 19 year old anymore and it is ringing home harder and faster than ever.
My tooth aches when my steak isn’t cooked at medium heat, my bunions hurts when I wear those Grenson wingtips, my eyes sting when I stare at the PC and my lungs cry when I smell diesel, in short everything is testing my ‘arugbo patience’ right about now. I played Tennis on Wii sports last night and I sweated so much that I crashed on the sofa with the remote still in hand five hours later.
So how is one supposed to stay on top of his game at this age? The ruthless ‘1985 – 1990’ bunch have caught up with us, as much as I laugh at the idea of someone born after 1982 – I have conceded that the young have grown and they are taking no prisoners.
They are more ambitious than we ever were – these worldly, business savvy, vain, over-manicured, makeup-wearing boys and girls show us up in the gym. First, they stay on the treadmill longer than 5 minutes, they lift weights (whilst making faces in front of the mirror) and they seem to have mastered the art of gym-discipline to a tee.
They want the Patek watch when at their age we were happy to rock a Swatch, they want that Hybrid Car when Tokunbo was all you dreamt of, and they have 5 different career options whilst we were fighting with mummy & daddy to let you do an ‘Art’ subject. Now, if one chooses a career as a ‘dustbin’-specialist photographer, the parents will say ‘O wa very talented, its derelict chic’!
I can just about handle all of that but they have crossed me this time, these ‘1985-1990’ bunch have stepped into my territory of insecurity.
This ruthless bunch has managed to put my ass in check because for as long as I could remember I was dubbed “a good dancer”, my street dance name was ‘Oskolomantia’. Let me give you my CV: In primary school, I won the Cabin Biscuit prize each year between Primary 3 and 5 as the best dancer of my year. In JSS1, I was called in front of the school Assembly and recognized by the Principal after I represented my school in a Mirinda-Dance Off nationwide competition. Shall I go on…..?
In the days of Subterrania, ex-MTV presenter and lip gloss ambassador, June Sarpong, career-counselled me to think about a career in dance. In University, I could cut-a-rub with the best of ‘em and when the Harlem Shake came out, I was warapa-ing my way from Bariga-to-Kuala Lumpur. You won test me!
But these days, as the back pains become unbearable and the neck pain tighter, why do these kids insist on creating dance moves that are just adult-unfriendly and discriminatory?
I mean, in our day (at least The Chakademus & Pliers’ Tease Me era) – the boggle, open & close, shabba, even the Big Poppa’s hand waving were family friendly – something for everyone to do – something for your nanny, father’s driver, and village uncles. But not today, if you don’t break ya neck or dislocate your knees then you ain’t dancing.
Let’s take the Jerkin’ dance for instance, when I’m not eating crack with banga soup, why will I put my left foot with my right foot up behind each other then jump and land on my right foot with my left foot up? That is not a dance that is what Yorubas call ‘o ji weray se’
Then there’s the Halle Berry, that’s the one where grown folks pretends to apply ‘air’ makeup in broad day light and the newest one ‘ Teach me how to Dougie’….ye pa ri pa.
The two-step has never looked so progressive. Perhaps if you are looking for an alternative dance move, how about the Friday Track’s Agbada dance?
To do it, simply wear your agbada fellas, let the sleeves fall as far as they go, then, raise both arms to create a flying/taking off silhouette now move from side to side going lower and lower and lower. On that note, I’m flying outta here peeps!
Till next episode!
This week’s Friday Track is Cali Swag District with ‘Teach Me How to Dougie’
PS: the Agbada dance was created by our good friends from last night.