When visuals strike

I am driving around Cairo and I notice this red bus that is of exactly the same type as the (new) red busses serving London. It even has the same iconic drawing on the side, just behind the driver (imported from the same company, I bet). For a second, my brain merges Cairo with London, superimposing our streets on theirs. But another part of my brain rejects the image. I like them separate.

Another such incident occurred a half hour ago. I have just parked, I open the door and there's a light breeze to relieve my heat. I have Four Tet's remix of "Roads Become Rivers, Rivers Become Oceans" by Rothko on my car system. Perfect music for a hot, 40C day and for me to spot two lizards climbing a wall. They're not exactly the same type of lizards I grew up with in northern Nigeria, but close enough to cause a superimposition, a type of dislocation.

Somewhere out there, everything is still the same.

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Michael Jackson

My oldest friend in the world texted me yesterday at midnight: "Can't believe Michael Jackson is dead."

That's how I found out.

Our flat went into an hour of shock; I broke the news to them. A Dutch woman of 24, a Portugese of 28, and I, all united in our shock and love of this icon.

The thing that most strikes you now that he is gone, is his incredible output. A
treasure trove of amazing songs. A track record that goes back to when he was 11.

As avantcaire says, our generation loved MJ. We associate childhood memories with him.

His music had ability to stir into action, to make you dance, to make you feel good, and also to make you contemplative, sweetly so. I always had a soft spot for his sentimental songs.

Here is a song that was one of my favourite since I was 13: Human Nature.

This too, used to be one of my favourites when I was a teenager: The Girl is Mine.


Gotta be startin somethin' - my Nigerian classmates loved that song!

'Off the wall' - this phrase entered the vocabulary in my Nigerian school because of Mr Michael Jackson.

...

And I will never forget the excitement that overcame me when I learned, at age 15, now in Cairo, that Mr Michael Jackson is back with I just can't stop loving you.

Why do we wait until someone dies to appreciate them? Imagine all MJ's contemporaries and competing artists, how they probably never called him, and how they probably want to do so now. They never celebrated his success, yet now they do.

The legacy is clear: volumes of music, a great voice, great dance moves, excitement, novelty, and sometimes, message as well.

You want to be remembered? Produce!

Sure, the guy had lost his way by the end. But boy did he produce!

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If it's between my friends and him, I'm going with him

How interesting it was to go to a point in London I'd never gone: Westferry, and sit in a grand church built in the 1700s to listen to classical compositions I had never heard.

When the orchestra kicks off, I am sat there between two friends. It's a new composition by a local composer - yet to be recorded. It is exciting, big, and has a very filmic, 007 sound. Within minutes, I am transported. The piece has raised the stage, raised the whole place, and the mundane has wafted out.

Suddenly, I feel: "I'm with that guy - I'm with the composer. Whatever world he inhabits, I want in on it. If it's between my friends or him, I'm going with him."

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