Mystery delicacies

"What is that?" I asked on more than one occasion as I wandered along the groaning buffet table last evening.  We had been invited to a fabulous gala to celebrate the 55th anniversary of Nigerian independence by good friends from our parish.  Four hundred people in the room, there must have been only about 20 of us who were white.  It was indeed an honour.

Calgary is home to many Nigerians because of the oil connection.  Knowing that all the women would be decked out in peerless finery, I wondered what the heck to wear?  One cannot compete with the glorious frocks and costumes of these glamorous ladies -- not that I wanted to -- and
not wanting to don black-on-black, as I often do, I dug out an extravagant pink boa bought in London a few years ago in an effort to attach "jaunty" to my outfit.  I love this boa, but don't have many opportunities to wear it in "jeans/Calgary".  The boa actually seemed happy to have been let out of its cage from the confines of the back of my closet!

The jewellery!  Must have been hundreds of thousands clinging to necks, ears and wrists in that room!

What a great evening!  The programme included welcomes by the Governor General, the Prime Minister, the Leader of the Opposition and the Mayor, which indicated how "Canadian" these folks are.  As we stood for both the Nigerian and Canadian National Anthems, I was struck by how our wonderful country welcomes everyone and how each integrates while maintaining individual cultures.

Looking fabulous, B was singled out by the MC who came down from the stage, over to our table and asked if he had ever been to Nigeria.  "No," was all B replied to the mike in his face.  What he should have added was that his uncle was the commander of British troops in Lagos in 1956 and that one of his cousins was born there.  But he didn't because I guess he figured the gathered would see us as "the British enemy", which I guess the Brits were. 

"She's fabulous," I said to B.  We were enjoying a performance by a young lady who was a very talented singer and African dancer.  When they announced she was only 14, I changed my tune.  I thought with all that makeup and exposed boobs she must have been 20!  (When I was 14, no one even had boobs!)    "Way too sexualized," I whispered.  But this is a different culture with different values.  Would I have allowed my 14-year-old daughter to expose herself and bump-and-grind like that?  Never.  Made me feel uncomfortable, but I hid it because it was all very normal in the context within which we found ourselves.

The custom is for audience members to go up on stage and throw $20-bills to the performers -- again, something our culture does not do.  Later, in the washroom, a grandmother was counting the loot and distributing it to her granddaughters.  What an education I had yesterday!

Here are a few snaps:

B and me.  (The green thing on my glove is a re-entry band.  Ugly.)

Our host, Francis Igbelina

Our gracious hostess, Chinelo Igbelina